


To Be Brave

by AmbroseVox



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Adventure, Counter-Insurgency, Crime, Drama, Freedom, Gen, Halo - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Innocence, Insurrection, Loyalty, Military-Adventure, Military-Drama, Politics, Revolution, Treason, UNSC, UNSC Army, War, insurrectionists - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbroseVox/pseuds/AmbroseVox
Summary: How does one make progress, by their voice or with a gun? What is the difference between treason and revolution? Does patriotism mean accepting the government's word or rebuking it? How can people be served if they do not want your service? Should orders always be obeyed even if they are wrong? Can one speak out but still be loyal? Will violence, met with violence, bring change?Radical Insurrectionist cells are flooding to the Outer Colony world of Víťazný Február. Moderate protestors are the targets of extremist citizens. The tentative peace upheld by local police and Colonial Military Administration forces is crumbling. Hopes are placed on the UNSC Army to restore order and prevent further bloodshed, but local police officer Monika Pokorný  is unsure whether the presence of troops and officers such as Captain Malcolm Park, will have the desired effect or cause further violence.
Kudos: 2





	1. All Fortune is Good Fortune

Far from the coast, at the base of the  Valachová Mountains , a mist began to drift through the sprawling Great Sokol Wood. Thick oaks, thin silver firs, pines with stretching branches, and bushy spruces, all dripping with dew, swayed slightly as the wind rolled between their trunks. With it came the mist, slowly flowing and coiling over itself and around the trees. When a stronger gust arrived and the trees began to bend, all the dewdrops fell. The sound was so cacophonous it seemed like a rainstorm was beginning to fall. Yet, the wind died down and the trees grew still. Along the forest floor, thick with fallen leaves, branches, brush, and undergrowth, was damp. Clumps of soft, green moss collected moisture and patches of grass were flattened from the fusillade of falling water. 

All the while, the mist crossed the Dunajovec River and rolled onto the Hollý Plains, a wide, stretching expanse made up of endless cropland. To the north, above the Roth River, there were countless bogs divided by dikes. Each was high with water; cranberries and blueberries were floating on the surface. In the central land, there were hundreds of individual and communal farms. Fields thick with budding vegetables were intermixed with freshly plowed brown earth. Irrigation systems inundated the fields with hazy water on many of the steads. Further south, past the De Thurocz River, there were so many orchards of lush, green apple trees and pink cherry trees that made up small forests of their own. Hillier ground below the orchards was coated with vineyards. Rows upon rows of vines tangled on posts and wire covered the land. As the mist began to cover the Plains, the doors of many homes and compounds opened up. Yawning farmers, clad in heavy-duty work jackets and durable cargo pants, stepped into the chilly air and began their work. Some looked skyward, wondering if the mist would give way to rain. 

On the coast line east of the Plains sat New Trnava, the immense commercial port and colonial capital. From the city, a massive road bridge crossed the Gulf of Bagar and led to Pribina, a sister city. Overhead, easterly mountain winds collided with salty, westerly breezes. Temperate mist mingled and mixed with seaborne fog; soon it began to drizzle. As blankets of gray clouds gathered in the sky, the pale morning sun glowed weakly behind them. Despite the morning, it seemed like evening was swiftly approaching. Skyscrapers, overpasses, bridges, roadways, and mag-lev rails were illuminated in brilliant white lights. Up and down the many high buildings, the blue glass windows took on warm yellow glows as office lights flickered on. Busy intersections and elevated highways were lined with cars; white headlights and deep red rear lights bloomed weakly in the fuzzy, gray morass. Nine-to-fivers crowded the sidewalks, carrying suitcases, purses, backpacks, and tote-bags. A few lucky enough not to have workplace obligations were out on breakfast dates or enjoying the foggy, drizzly morning in a café. 

However, great crowds began to gather all over the city. The largest groups were marching down Hlinka Avenue. On one side of the street, there were dozens of commercial enterprises and outlets from non-local businesses. On the opposite side was the beginning of a park called the Hlinka Expanse. When they reached the entrance, the marchers trickled into the Expanse. Sidewalks snaked throughout the flower beds filled with red roses. In the center was a pond with a submerged fountain, spraying four moderate columns and one large column of white water into the air. Lining the sidewalks and standing on the grass were demonstrators. Some stood on crates and spoke to their compatriots through megaphones. Others made way for pedestrians cutting through the park to get to work. As they stepped aside, they held out leaflets and information packets. Held high or balanced on shoulders were signs decrying oppression, repression, brutality, taxes, and more. Overhead, local news channel helicopters buzzed while vans found parking on the commercial side of the Avenue. Soon, press crews began to gather outside the black fencing of the park. Reporters smoothed out their suits and dresses, fixed their hair, and raised their microphones. Cameras were mounted on tripods and their operators gave a go-ahead gesture.

“Good morning, Anton Malec here and I’m reporting to you  _ live  _ from Hlinka Expanse. Demonstrators are gathering to protest the recent taxation and rearmament of NTPD. It appears the protest is growing little by little...”

In the lobby of District-C6 New Trnava Police Department, Monika Pokorný listened to the wall-mounted television set as she took off her service cap. She held the blue baseball cap up and ran her thumb over the big, bold, white letters spelling out ‘NTPD,’ on the front. Turning it around, she undid the strap and clipped it to her belt. Then, she took the hair tie out of her ponytail and clutched it with her pale pink lips. Spreading her brown hair, still wet from her morning shower, she bent over quickly and let it fall over her head. Gathering it up, she stood and smoothed it out. Once it was tight, she retied it, and then picked up the rain-soaked white pharmacy bag resting by her foot. 

Satisfied, she unzipped her jacket and took off her backpack. She turned and looked up at the television, wiping raindrops from her cheeks. 

On the screen, with numerous scroll bars in English and Slovak below the headline, was the slick-haired Anton Malec. The blonde haired, green-eyed reporter motioned to the protesters behind him. “...so far, the demonstration appears to be an information drive. Many of the participants are handing out pamphlets for passerby’s and are keeping clear of the street. They certainly picked quite a day to hold such a protest.”

To emphasize his point, Malec flashed a pearly white grin and bounced his eyebrows up as the morning rain began to fall harder. “I guess the rain isn’t going to wash these folks away, today, but if you’re looking to stay dry you might want to stay clear of Hlinka Expanse.”

Monika shook her head.

“What an asshole,” she muttered before walking past the front desk. Half a dozen clerks lined the half-hexagon desk. Many tapped away at terminals or fielded phone calls. Behind them was another row consisting of dispatch operators. Beyond them were a series of office dividers and workstations. Officers and detectives were at their desks. Assistants milled about, carrying files and data pads. Some personnel from the previous watch were getting ready to leave. A strong smell of coffee hung in the air. At the front desk, the balding sergeant, Kaputsa, looked up from his terminal. “Morning,” Monika chimed. 

“Didn’t think you’d make it for roll call, Corporal,” he said in his dead tone. 

“That commute from Hollý kills me,” Monika replied as she walked towards the adjacent hall. When she passed through the door, she frowned and shook her head. 

Checking her wristwatch, she quickened her pace and headed to the locker room. There, she found it full of other officers in various states of dress. Some were stripped down to their undergarments, while others were half-dressed in their dark blue uniforms. Some were standing in front of their open, blue lockers, rubbing deodorant under their armpits or smoothing out their service jackets. Those who were already in full uniform were sitting on the benches, tying their shoelaces or patting down their vests. Everyone was chatting and occasionally a laugh or a cuss broke the buzz. Passing through them, she offered nods, smiled, and curt greetings to her friends and coworkers. Eventually, she made it to her locker. Beside her was her partner, standing in front of his own. 

She tapped him on the shoulder. “Morning Jake.”

“Morning!” he replied cheerily. Officer Jacob Lake was a tall, burly Earthborn from the United Republic of North America. He kept his black hair closely cropped and wore a trim mustache. “Hit some traffic?”

“That’s what I had to tell the house mouse when I came in,” Monika grumbled as she opened her locker. “There was a little but I got in before the traffic got really bad. Had to swing by the pharmacy.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Monika answered quickly as she grabbed the small white bag again. “I gotta use the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Be quick, briefing’s starting soon,” Lake advised. Monika just waved her hand as she passed the showers, grabbed a sheet of brown paper towel hanging from a wall-mounted box, and went to the stalls. She undid her belt, pulled down her trousers, and sat down. Opening the bag, she pulled out a small blue and pink box. Printed in large, bold letters were the words, ‘Pregnancy Test.’ Right below it was a small text field reading, ‘results in under two minutes.’ To the right was a big number three.

Sighing, she placed the brown paper on the shelf bolted to the side of the stall. Then, she opened the box and pulled out the dipstick. One after the other, she used all three and placed them on the paper towel. Afterwards, she looked at her wrist watch and narrowed her amber eyes at the slow moving hands. One minute passed, then two. 

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the first one. On the small screen was a plus sign. She checked the second; the screen displayed a plus sign. Slowly, she examined the third one and let out a shaky breath as she stared at the positive sign. Putting it down, she hung her head. One hand went to her forehead and she began to breathe heavily. Soon, hot tears ran down her cheeks and she choked back several sobs. Sniffing loudly, she quickly sat back up, still holding her forehead. Hastily, she reached over and plucked some toilet paper from the box below the shelf. She wiped her eyes and nose. Just as she balled it up and dropped it into the toilet, her nose began to run again. Tears streamed, gathered on her jaw line, and then dropped onto the floor. Letting out an restrained by ultimately exasperated groan, she balled up more toilet paper and wiped her face down. Outside, the banter and laughter seemed to grow louder, louder, and louder until it was nearly deafening. Gritting her teeth, she threw the paper away, squeezed her eyes shut, and covered her ears. Moments later, it all seemed to stop.

Sitting back, she took slow, deep breaths. Monika felt her frantic heartbeat begin to slow and the pit in her stomach started to fade. Just then, she heard approaching footsteps. Looking down, she saw two black boots standing in front of the stall door. 

There was a knock. “Uh, Monika? You okay?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her tongue was suddenly so dry it felt like a rock. Swallowing hard, she reached over and wrapped the dipsticks in the paper towel. 

“Trying to pee here,” she said, feigning annoyance. 

“Right,” he said, his tone wary. Briefing’s starting, better hurry up.”

“It’d go a lot quicker without interruptions.” 

“Alright, alright.”

His booted feet disappeared and Monika waited for a few moments. Taking a short breath, she finally rose, wiped, zipped up, and flushed. Taking the paper towel and dipsticks, she went outside the stall and tossed them all in the trash. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the locker room was empty. It was very relieving and the quiet was pleasant. 

After washing her hands, she went back to her locker. Already dressed in her uniform, she took off her civilian jacket and traded it for her department-issue raincoat. On a hook on the right side was her black tactical vest which she wore over her coat. Putting on her gun belt, she slid her Humbler stun rod into its loop and then filled her vertical chest pockets with M6B magazines. The weapon itself was in its holster, hanging on a hook fastened to the locker door. Attaching it to her belt, she took out the sidearm, ensured the safety was on, pulled the slide back, and checked the weapon over. One final magazine sat on the top shelf of the locker and she promptly slid it into the pistol. 

Examining the safety one more time before she slid the sidearm back in its holster, Monika attached her radio to her vest and inserted the earpiece into her right ear. Finally, she placed her badge on the left side of her vest. After patting herself down, she looked at the inside of the door. A small, black leather pouch hung from the same hook. She reached in and pulled out the small, metal pad. Setting it down on the top shelf, she clicked the vertical button on the side. A holo-image flickered to life. In it, a small girl with dark brown hair and a toothy grin smiled at the camera. Pale green eyes glimmered with youth. 

Monika chuckled briefly then deactivated it. Instead of putting it back in the pouch, she slid it into her pocket. Closing her locker, she hurried back out into the hall. A few doors ahead was the briefing room. She opened the door and found it already filled. On either side were four large tables, big enough to seat four people on one side. At the front of the room was a desk and monitor screen mounted on the wall behind it. Beside it was a white board with various codes written on it. Other boards and screens lined the walls, displaying sectors, routes, and profiles of wanted criminals. 

Everyone was already seated. Upon hearing the door closed behind Monika, the majority looked over their shoulders at her. Sergeant Cibulka sat at the front desk. Lean, spectacled, and black-haired, he glared up at her. 

“Nice of you to join us,” he growled. 

“Sorry, Sarge.”

She looked to the right. Sitting at the second to last table was Lake. He made an exasperated face then motioned for her to sit down. 

Monika sat in the chair next to him. “Did I miss anything?”

“He just started,” he whispered back. 

Sergeant Cibulka read through all the surnames of the present officers. Everyone responded with a, ‘here,’ or, ‘present.’ When everyone was accounted for, he set his data pad down. 

“Alright everyone, just going over the reports from the last watch,” he said, sliding a green binder in front of him. Opening it up, he flipped through several pages. “At oh-three-hundred last night, we had a hit-and-run on Bojnice Street. Caught the plate, one-bravo-kilo-seven-niner, ran it, it was clean, sent a cruiser to the suspect’s home but there was no one there and no vehicle. Vehicle was identified as a red Genet so keep a look out for the plate, that’s one-bravo-kilo-seven-niner. Two attempted break-ins, one residential, one at an outlet store. Both suspects were caught. Couple of drunken brawls, a domestic out in Hollý. Besides that, it was pretty quiet.”

He closed the binder, slid it away, and grabbed a smaller, red one. “For outstanding cases in our district, we’ve still got a string of burglaries targeting small businesses. Really well-planned, localized jammers scrambling surveillance equipment, no fingerprints, limited damage. Its too well organized to be some kind of thrill-seeker, probably organized crime. We’ve got detectives on it but keep your ears open.” He flipped the page. “We’ve got some people infiltrating that smuggler’s ring at the port but they’re not ready to break it up just yet.” He turned to the next one and rested his chin on his fist. “And we’re still waiting to hear back from homicide on the murder on May 13 th , and the previous one on April 27 th . All we got so far is the murder weapon was a military-issue M45 shotgun with one slug fired at point blank range. Both victims were CMA officers. Given the nature of the weapon and the victims, this is probably Insurrection work, but homicide doesn’t want to jump to conclusions.”

He closed the binder loudly and slid it back down the desk. After taking a quick sip from his large white mug of coffee he folded his hands together. “Last point: the city-wide demonstrations. They’ve been coming down the pike, permits are verified, it’s not supposed to be radical, doesn’t seem tied to the Insurrection. But the Captain wants security in those areas in case things get out of hand.”

Cibulka picked up his data pad and opened a new tab. After running his finger over a line of text, he looked back up. “The biggest group is at Hlinka Expanse. Pokorný and Lake, that’s your usual sector. Plant yourself nearby and just keep an eye on them.” 

The Sergeant ran down some other teams for security, then stood up and planted his hands on the desk. “Now, there’s going to be lots of cameras and people around. Keep your fucking sidearms in their holsters and be civil. They’re already protesting our rearmament and the last thing I need is for them to start crying ‘police brutality.’ You’re out there to protect these people so that’s what you better fucking do, got it?”

“Yes, Sarge!” everyone replied loudly. 

“Alright, listen up for your sectors then get to your shops.”

When he finished and they were dismissed, Monika and Lake followed the stream of officers down the hall, and entered a deeper section of the station. As they walked, she put her cap back on. They went to the armory and officers gathered their heavier weapons. Lake grabbed one of the newly supplied M7 submachine guns and a few magazines of ammunition. Taking a WST DTM shotgun, Monika grabbed a belt of shells and followed her partner down the hall leading to the below-level garage. As light eked through the open windows above them, Monika and Lake approached their sleek, black and white Genet. 

Lake opened the driver’s side door and tossed in his mini-cooler. 

“I got four cans of BLAST, Cola, iced coffee, water, energy bars, and...ooh, Janice packed me a sub. Sweet.”

“Did she make anything for me?” 

“Make your own lunches for a change,” Lake said with a snide tone. Monika just laughed. 

“You try making breakfast  _ and  _ dinner every single day of your life and then see if you want to make your own meal again.”

She checked over the inside of the vehicle, making sure there was no trash, materials, or bodily fluids anywhere in the cruiser. After double-checking it, she opened the door and snapped the shotgun into the black holders attached to the metal screen dividing the rear and front of the interior. Lake loaded the M7 and checked the safety before sliding it into the holders. He tugged an empty plastic water bottle from his jacket and put it in the cup holder between the front seats. A data pad was in its holder on the dashboard above the glove compartment. Monika snapped it free, activated it, registered her name into it, and connected it to the police net. Both officers put on their seatbelts, Lake turned the key, and drove them out onto the street.

As they made their way through traffic, Monika made sure the radio volume was high enough. Rain pattered on the windshield and thumped on the roof. Outside, cars honked their horns and street lights flashed. Pedestrians in raincoats long and short, or huddled under umbrellas, milled along the sidewalks. 

As they came to another red light, Lake took out a small metal can that fit in his palm. It looked like the kind of cans cat food came in. But he popped the lid and took out a small chunk of brown chewing tobacco. Stuffing it in between his bottom lip and teeth, he held it out to Monika. She shook her head. “Nah, not today. Think I’ll try to quit.”

“Suit yourself. Can’t blame you for livin’ cleaner,” he said, screwing the cap back on. He tucked it back into his pocket. “Janice asked me to stop. Once I finish this can, I’ll give it a shot.”

Monika sighed. 

“No. Well, yes, that’s a part of it, but that’s not the whole reason.”

She turned and looked out the window. Her reflection vaguely stared back at her. Although she could not see Lake she could feel her friend’s eyes boring into her. For a few moments, she took it well enough. Soon, she nibbled her lip and frowned. 

“Is that reason related to why you took so long in the locker room? Or why you were toting that bag from the pharmacy?”

Monika rolled her eyes and shook her head a little. But a moment later, she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Baby number two’s on the way.”

“Hey!” Lake said loudly. He let go of the wheel and clapped his hands just as the light turned green. Quickly, he gripped the wheel again. But he reached over with one his big hands, grabbed her sleeve, and jostled her. “Congrats! That’s awesome.”

“I already kind of knew, but it doesn’t hurt to double-check.”

“Janice said something to me like that. Did I ever tell you me and her wanted to have four kids? We were dead set on it. But the second time around I was helping her put on the hospital gown and all of a sudden, she just turned around, grabbed my shoulders, and looked me in the face. ‘Jakey,’ she said, ‘I love you, but I think two is enough.’ I said, ‘you sure?’ And she said through her teeth, ‘ _ never again _ .’ I was just like, ‘okay baby!’ and zipped my lip.”

Monika laughed. 

“You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

“Oh man, I died like three times when she was in labor. When they did the c-section I could have fainted. Were you a caesarean?”

“Fuck yeah,” Monika replied. “Rosie was a big baby.” 

“Rosie’s a big girl now. She’s gonna be a tank one day. Woe to the boy who marries her.”

“Hopefully she’ll stay smart and won’t marry.”

They both chuckled but they soon grew silent. It was uncomfortable. Monika looked back out the window, chewing her bottom lip. A pang of sorrow struck her heart and she felt her shoulders sag. She knew what Lake was thinking about what to say next, or rather ask. His nature was naturally inquisitive, although this was moot as his intuition was so great. It was no wonder why he was aiming to become a detective. 

“Does this mean you and Pravomil are back together, or—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Monika said too sharply. Lake just pursed his lips, nodded his head to the side, and kept driving. After looking at him for a few moments, she sighed and looked back at the window. “Sorry.”

“I get it,” was all her partner said.

The silence became uncomfortable again. Clearing her throat, she decided to change the subject. 

“How’re your studies going?”

“I’m starting to remember why I hated school growing up,” was all he said, following it up with a slight chuckle. 

“Picking up any Slovak yet?”

“I don’t have to learn a goddamn word of Slovak,” Lake replied with a false attitude. Monika already knew where he was going and laughed prematurely. 

“Because you’ve got rocks for brains?”

“Why would I learn some weird-ass language when I got you? Who needs translation software when you can just get someone  _ else  _ to do all your talking, listening, and translating for you?”

“Didn’t the application say, ‘must have a basic understanding of Slovak,’ or some shit?”

“It was in Slovak so I’ll give you a soft maybe on that one.”

Both of them laughed and the car ride settled into a more comfortable silence. As the morning dragged on, the traffic began to clear up. Cars lined either side of nearly every street. When the crosswalk lights flashed green, intersections became jammed with impenetrable crowds. Green, yellow, and red signal lights glowed in the misty rain. Pedestrians flowed along the sidewalks, wearing clear plastic ponchos, raincoats of various colors and styles. Through the thousands of raindrops running down the window, Monika watched them all.

Soon, Lake pulled the cruiser onto Hlinka Avenue. Only a few cars were parked on either side. Already, they could see the signs being held high over the black, steel fence and the crowd of people through the bars. Just in front of the main gate, news reporters were still standing in front of their cameras. Some of the bigger media outlets arrived and instead of cameramen, they were accompanied by small white drones. He pulled into an empty space across from Hlinka Expanse. After turning off the engine, they sat there for a moment just gazing out the driver side window. 

While the reporters spoke into their cameras, the protesters in the park continued to gather. More seemed to be joining their numbers. Those who didn’t linger walked out with leaflets. Some immediately balled them up and tossed them in the nearest trash bin. Others read as they walked, careful to keep it under their umbrella. Even over the patter of the rain, the sound of voices speaking through megaphones could be heard. 

Lake picked up the crumpled plastic bottle and spit into it. Runny brown fluid gathered on the bottom. “Gotta admire them.”

“Just ordinary people exercising their rights,” Monika murmured, “does the Sarge really want us here babysitting them? They seem harmless.”

“It can get out of hand pretty fast.”

“Yeah, but what if it doesn’t? If we’re not on patrol, we won’t be able to respond as quickly.” 

“We’re in our sector. Just chill out.”

Monika glanced at her wrist watch, sighed, and continued to watch. More people joined the protest while a few individuals departed. Some of the news reporters packed up their kits and got back into their vans. Only a few remained, pulling up their hoods as they were bombarded by the rain. 

Minutes dragged by, feeling like hours. None of the people were moving around. A few speakers changed spots on platforms and swapped megaphones. It was far too monotonous to watch, so Monika slouched in her seat and stared out the front windshield. Ahead, she could see all the lit up signs of various commercial giants. Right beside them as a HuCiv storefront. On either side of the double doors were wide windows. In the left, there was a stylish green Genet while a sleek Fossa, with a yellow body and glossy black windows, was in the right. Right beside it was its competitor, an AMG Transport Dynamics outlet. Its bright, white and blue sign glowed in the rain. Beside it was an Atlas Communications Company storefront. Inside, there were smartphones, computers, televisions, and personal data pads for sale. Further down, there was a Liang-Dortmund Corporation office. Beyond it was a BLAST shop with a sale on a new flavor it was testing. 

After staring at the giant corporate buildings for a few moments, Monika just shook her head. She looked over at Lake, whose elbow was braced on the armrest of the door. He held his chin in his hand and continued to stare at the protesters. A few moments later, he reached over and adjusted the knobs on the radio to ensure the signal was clear. 

Monika was about to reach back and grab a bottle of water but a knock on the window made her and Lake jump. They looked over to see a young man, no older than twenty, with acne on his cheeks and wet hair, waving at them. 

Lake held his finger on the switch and at the same time stealthily placed his hand on his holster. When the window came down, the rainfall grew louder, as if someone turned a stereo from ten to one hundred. 

“Hi officers, could I—”

“Sir, step away from the vehicle,” Lake said firmly. 

“But I—”

“Sir, step away from the vehicle and get onto the sidewalk, you’re not safe standing in the road.”

The young man glanced left and right, then nodded. He went around the front and onto the sidewalk, staying a few paces away from their cruiser. Monika lowered her window. 

“Can we help you, sir? Are you in need of assistance?”

“I was just hoping to give you a leaflet,” he said, raising his voice over the rain.

Monika heard Lake scoff behind her. But a smile tugged at her lips. 

“Sure kid,” she said and waved him over. The young man smiled, approached, and handed it to her. 

“Thanks guys, have a good one” he said, waved, and headed back across the street. Monika and Lake raised their windows.

“You wanna bust this idiot for jaywalking?” Lake asked, bemused.

“It’d certainly break up the boredom,” Monika replied, tugging the leaflet out of the water-covered plastic sleeve. She looked up briefly as the kid passed through the fence. “Just give him a warning.”

Lake lowered the window again. 

“Sir!” 

The young man whirled around. Lake nodded at him. “Next time, use the crosswalk.” He pointed down the street at the set of lights. The protestor just smiled, revealing two rows of braces. He disappeared into the crowd while Lake raised his window again. After an agitated sigh, he looked over at Monika. “You know he won’t.”

“Of course not, he’s just a dumb kid. Kids never listen.”

“What was that about, anyways?”

“Probably just wants something to brag about on his ChatterNet feed. ‘Gave some dumb cops our anti-cop leaflet, L-O-L, R-O-F-L, L-M-A-O.”

“Yeah, probably. What’s that bullshit say?”

Monika cleared her throat loudly and obnoxiously, trying to come off as a pretentious orator. Even before she started reading, Lake was chuckling. 

“We the people protest the unfair treatment and taxation at the hands of the Colonial Administration Authority and Colonial Military Administration. Like so many of the Outer Colonies, we are subjected to biased laws and the suspension of our basic rights on a regular basis. Why should we submit to such illegal acts when citizens of the Inner Colonies and the so-called beacon of humanity, Earth, do not? If we all follow the UEG’s laws, why does the UEG continue to fail us by allowing the CAA and CMA to issue their predatory practices?”

Monika paused. “Just more of the same. It’s really repetitive.”

“What does it say about the rearmament?”

“Uh...” Monika read ahead, found nothing, and flipped the page. “...here we go. We protest the rearmament of the NTPD. Police officers should not walk around carrying weapons one finds in the UNSC Defense Force. We are not the Insurrection. We are common citizens working for our rights. Why do the police need to point sixty-round magazine-fed weapons that can fire nine hundred rounds a minute at us?”

“Next time some dumbass gun man or an Innie cell pops up, they’ll be happy the police had burners like that,” Lake muttered. 

“They even have a list of demands.”

“Quit reading, I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

After regarding it for another moment, not really reading it but simply gazing at the lines of text filling up the pages, Monika balled it up. After tucking it into the tray between their seats, she took out a bottle of water and took a drink. 

“What do you think about the rearming?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It happened. Can’t undo it.”

“Those protesters across the road seem to think so.”

“They can wave their signs, hand out that  _ toilet paper _ ,” Lake said, pointing at the leaflet, “and talk a big game, but nothing will change. What’s the point if nothing’ll change?”

Monika scoffed and shook her head.

“You can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

Lake spit into his bottle again. His expression became disgusted and he spit the tobacco into it as well. He capped the bottle, rolled down the window, and spit again. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve he slouched down in his seat and folded his hands on his stomach. 

“That same thought has entered the minds of millions of people. Some of them are out here protesting and others are blowing themselves up with hundreds of innocent people. And who's to say these folks won't pick up guns when they get fed up with the CMA and CAA?” Lake threw up his arms in exasperation and let them fall on his lap. “Seems like the Colonies are going to hell, man.”

“On that we’re agreed.” 

Monika glanced at her wrist watch. Time was still dragging by. Letting her arm drop, she groaned loudly. After glancing at the protest, which still seemed as restrained as it did when they arrived, she looked through the windshield again. Down Hlinka Avenue was a four-way intersection. On the opposite corner, there was a local coffee shop. In neon letters were the words,  ‘Vidiecka Káva,’ casting a light blue bloom in the rainy mist. 

It was a local favorite by officers in the NTPD. The shop provided a wide variety of blends from all over the Colonies and even Earth. Alongside countless brews, they served various kinds of breakfasts, breads, and desserts.

Just staring at, Monika could smell the coffee. 

Lake must have caught sight of it too. As she was staring at the inviting front door of the shop, the taste of glazed sweet bread on her tongue, she felt his heavy hand tap her shoulder. Looking over sharply, he just grinned and nodded at it. At first, Monika couldn’t help but smile back. Hot coffee and something sweet did not sound half bad. But as she looked at him, she could not help but gaze by him. The protest was still calm and controlled. Nothing seemed out of hand. But the longer she stared, the more a pit began to grow in her stomach. 

“We should stay.”

“How about I stay and you go pick us something up?”

Monika didn’t think twice as she began to get out. Halfway out, she turned back and offered a smirk.

“Are you going to transfer me a few credits or is this going on your tab?”

“Hey, as far as I’m concerned this covers all the times Janice watched Rosie for you. Who's paying who’s tab now? Check and, furthermore, mate.”

Monika did not dignify his tone with a response. Shutting the door, she pressed her middle finger against the glass, and then cast a final glance at the protests. Satisfied there seemed to be no trouble, she slid her hands into her pockets and walked down the sidewalk. When the crosswalk signal flashed, she crossed the road, jogged across the perpendicular crossing as the timer began to reach zero, and went into the shop.

The moment she entered, her nose was greeted by dozens of different coffee scents. Some were robust, others sweet, and others so bitter she wrinkled her nose. Patrons sat at the counter, the tables in the center, or at the booths lining the two large windows on either side of the front entrance and the longer window on the adjacent wall overlooking the street. Office temps and interns nervously checked their watches as they slurped their coffee. A few elderly couples sat at the booths, talking quietly as they gingerly raised their white mugs. Here and there, a budding writer tapped at their mobile terminal. In a corner seat, two blushing teenagers avoided each other’s gazes as they spoke.

For a time, Monika peered at them over her shoulder while she waited in line. The young girl, who had wavy blonde hair, kept tucking a stray lock behind her ear. Opposite from her, the boy clasped his hands constantly, squeezing his fingers with one hand and then the other by turns. Occasionally, one would say something earning a shy giggle from the other. Neither touched the  trdelník on their plate. The hollow rolls, glazed with sugar and walnut, were swiftly getting cold. 

“Next.”

Monika stepped forward. A lady, not quite into her middle age, with a wide, welcoming face, graying brown hair, and an ocean blue gaze, planted her hands on the counter. “Morning, Monika. Sounds like a talkshow on TV.  _ Moooorning Monika _ ,” she sang, then giggled. “How are you?”

“Just fine, Kamila, thanks. May I have the buchteln with curd, one coffee with cream and two sugar, and one coffee with cream and one sugar, please?”

“Coming right up,” Kamila said, adjusting her white apron as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Monika waited patiently, sliding her hands back into her pockets. She looked up at the black chalkboards hanging in front of the oak counter, listing the day’s specials and discounts. As she did, she noticed the water pooling around her feet. She lifted her boots, seeing they were slick, and felt bad for not wiping her feet when she came in. The water droplets pooling on the deep brown wooden flooring glimmered in the warm, yellow glow of the overhead lights. 

Looking back up, her gaze steadily fell back on the two teenagers. The girl was now leaning forward, resting her chin on both palms. Below the table, her legs crossed and uncrossed repeatedly. The boy was also closer to her, folding his arms on the table. He seemed to be whispering something and that made the girl squint, bite her bottom lip, and giggle.

A soft smile spread across Monika’s face. Eventually, she looked to the other side of the shop. In the middle booth at the adjacent window sat one of the eldery couples. The white-whiskered gentleman was wearing a flat cap and a crumpled tan coat. Across from him, his wife wore a brown jacket but her floppy hat sat in her lap. For a time, they were silent. Then, the older woman looked up, spoke, and her husband smiled. Slowly, he reached across the able and took her hand. His thumb ran back and forth across the top of her hand, ,making her smile so sweetly.

As she did, Monika’s own faded. So saddened as she stared, she didn’t hear Kamila saying her name or her radio crackling. 

“Partner, you there?” Lake’s voice came over her radio. He sounded distressed. 

“Hold on,” Monika said to Kamila and held the radio up. “I’m here, what’s up?”

“Could use, hey, back off pal, could use a hand here!”

Monika turned around and looked out the window. Back down on Hlinka Avenue, she could just see Lake standing in front of the gate to the Expanse. Behind him were two women, and in front was a large, bald man trying to shove them. 

“I’m on my way!” Monika said over the radio, clipped it to her vest, and barged out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All fortune is good fortune, for it either rewards, disciplines, amends, or punishes, and so is either useful or just," - Boethius, Roman philosopher


	2. ...Liberties, Rights, and Confessions, Well and Peaceably

Monika dashed across the street and pounded down the sidewalk. Lake was still between the aggressor and two young women, probably no older than Monika herself. The man berating and attempting to shove the two protesters was chest to chest with her partner. Although matched by height, and despite his own barrel chest, Lake was not as big as the man in front of him. He kept one arm in front of the ladies while his other was pressed against the fellow’s chest. At the same time, other protesters were coming out of Hlinka Expanse. Several were trying to take the two women by the arms and slip them back into the park, but they were pressed too tightly against the fence. One was trying to get in between Lake and the man while a pair hurled insults. To make matters worse, citizens from the other side of Hlinka Avenue were crossing the street. Some were trying to get the man off while others began to encourage them. Compounding it all, news reporters were ordering their cameramen or drones to get shots of the growing action. Van doors opened as newsmen, just about to leave, wanted to get their live report in.

Slowing down as she approached, Monika tried to separate them. 

“Sir, get back right now!” she shouted. 

“Fucking shits think they can come out here and whine about everything wrong in the Colonies!” the man snarled. He thrust a hand over Lake’s shoulder and tried to grab one of the women by her hair. Whimpering, she crouched as low as she could. Unable to reach, he pointed at her. “Little bitch! You want to talk shit about the CMA? My brother’s in the CMA! He’s fighting every day to make sure the Innies don’t come here and slit your throat while you sleep! You got a problem with him, you got a problem with me!”

Lake pushed him as hard as he could, forcing him to take several steps back. Monika took the opportunity to step in front of Lake and extended one hand. Together, they took two steps forward. Behind them, the two women were finally ushered back into Hlinka Expanse.

“You need to calm down, sir!” Lake commanded.

“They’re nothing but Innie-sympathizers!” somebody shouted.

“Traitors!” another roared.

“These people don’t have the right to complain!” the big man stated. He was bald, wore a goatee, and had a heavy brow over his beady eyes. Beside him were a mixed bag of civilians, just like those within Hlinka Expanse. Some seemed more managerial or business types, while others could have worked in a clothing store or restaurant. Every single one wore an enraged expression and cast accusatory gazes upon the protesters bulging at the gate. 

The big man pointed at them again. “These people just like to complain. We all have to pay higher taxes, get over it!”

“The Outer Colonies are dangerous, too,” a man added. He was a middle-aged man, slim, and clad in an expensive black coat. “They should be  _ thankful  _ you officers have new weapons. The Insurrection has been here for too long and they’re starting to hurt our business!”

“If the Innies ever came here in force they’d kill us all!” another added.

“They’d probably be happy that the Innies showed up!” a man behind them yelled. Others reciprocated his cry and began chanting. They screamed, ‘Innie scum,’ ‘rebels,’ and, ‘traitors!’ Before Monika could react, she felt bodies behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the protesters trickling out of Hlinka Expanse. They too appeared angry and were clutching their signs as if they were swords, maces, and axes. Baring and gritting their teeth, their eyes began to glow with fury. 

Extending both arms out, she walked backwards trying to keep them from slipping by her. It was like trying to stop a flowing river. More and more marched out, insulting the counter-protesters. Numbers on either side began to grow. Pedestrians unaffiliated with either party began to run down the sidewalks, giving the fray a wide berth. Others took out their COM-pads and began filming. Some of the protesters from inside Hlinka Expanse did not try to break free. Instead, they got alongside Lake and Monika, adding their weight to keep their fellow demonstrators from spilling out onto the street. Monika’s voice was drowned out by the orchestra of screaming voices. She looked over at Lake, who was doing his best to keep the surge of protesters from coming onto the sidewalk as well. In front of them, the counter-protesters chanted louder. Many looked pleased as the agitated radicals grew more aggressive and combative. People began to roll up their sleeves, ball up their fists, or lower themselves as if readying to charge. Political chants and insults turned into taunts, jeers, and calls to fight. Protesters replied in kind. Objects began to be flung; water bottles, cans of BLAST, and trash from the curb.

As she struggled to keep the two hordes from crashing into one another, Monika looked over at Lake. He was already looking at her.

“I’m calling for backup,” he groaned. 

“Don’t, it could escalate this even more!”

“How’re we going to stop them?”

“Give me a second, I’ve got an idea!”

She didn’t. Her own thumping heartbeat reverberating in her ear drums, Monika looked around trying to figure out a plan. She looked over at Lake, who was trying so hard to keep the protesters back that his eyes were squeezed shut. Across from him, the counter-protesters were snarling like animals. Spittle flew from their lips as they screamed; it was like looking at a pack of growling wolves waiting for an opportune moment to strike. But the protesters seemed just as ready to fight. More and more began to drop their signs or were prepared to use them as clubs. 

Monika looked around, around, and around. Suddenly, she spotted a man. Blonde of hair, with glasses and a sad, scrappy beard, he kept pushing protesters back. Although his words were lost among the uproar, his terrified expression was all she needed to see. Hanging from his belt was a megaphone with a corded microphone attached. She burst from her spot towards him. “Hold them!” she cried to Lake. Rushing into him so hard they nearly toppled over, she tore it from his belt, held up the microphone, and squeezed the trigger. “Attention, attention, attention!” she hollered into it. Her voice carried loudly and clearly over the noise. The shock of it was enough to make the two bustling crowds still and look her way. 

Knowing she had mere moments before their rage sparked again, she spoke as quickly as she could. “The protest currently taking place in Hlinka Expanse is permitted by the mayor and the planetary governor. Any attempt to disrupt it shall be considered a violation of these citizens' right to free speech and the rights of protesters. Any persons found engaging in such disruptive acts shall be arrested.” She faced the Hlinka Expanse protesters. “Anyone who commits violence will also be arrested. Unless you all want to spend the rest of your day behind bars and face trial in a court of law, you are hereby ordered to disperse by order of the New Trnava Police Department!”

For good measure, Monika held the microphone and megaphone in both hands. It was difficult but she managed well enough. Reaching over with her other hand, she plucked her own radio from her vest. “I’ve got several squad cars on their way already and if you’d like I can bring out the Peacekeepers!”

It was a bluff and the keener ones probably saw right through it. But she needed to appeal to the brutes, manning the front ranks of both sides. Monika offered them a steeled gaze. In return, their eyes were a mixture of confusion, surprise, anger, and trepidation. 

One of the counter-protesters, a stout lady with freckled cheeks and curly auburn hair, stepped forward. 

“Why are you defending these people?” he called. “They want to disarm you!”

Monika let her hand fall from her radio and lowered the megaphone as well. Slowly, she walked forward and entered the thin space between the opposing sides. As she did, both began to slowly back away, giving her room. Lake was able to relax, letting his arms fall to his side. But he maintained firm posture, raising his shoulders and letting his head stoop forward like a hound. 

When Monika was in the center, she faced the counter-protesters. “It doesn’t matter what you or I want. These people are your peers. They are empowered by their rights and permitted by this government to protest. Regardless of what they’re protesting, it is my job to protect them and uphold the law. You,” she said, pointing at them, “are gathered without a permit and are inciting violence. Disperse. Now.”

Slowly, she clipped the megaphone to one of her belt loops and then rested her hand on the pommel of her Humbler stun rod. Beside her, Lake did the same with a great deal of deliberation. 

Staring down the two officers, the crowd remained tense. Some glanced at one another, their hands clenching quickly. Others seemed to relax, but remained on guard, keeping their shoulders facing the police. A car drove by, its lights cutting through the wet mist. Briefly, the yellow-white glow bloomed behind the crowd. In that instant, they appeared like a throng of shadows. Once the car passed, several individuals waved dismissively or threw their hand up in frustration and walked away. More left, either by themselves or in small groups. First a trickle then a stream the crowd finally dispersed. 

Keeping her hand on her Humbler until the last man to leave, the one who instigated the affair, spit on the ground and departed. After they were all gone, Monika let out a long, deep breath. Closing her eyes, she hung her head back and looked up at the sky. It was more from fatigue rather than relief. As her gaze fell, she happened to see many figures lining and filling the many windows of corporate buildings on the other side of Hlinka Avenue. Although somewhat undefined by the deep blue glass, she could see their trim black business suits and white office shirts. Scanning the storefronts, she saw hundreds looking back at her. Pursing her lips, she waved at them. Not a moment later, they all turned around and disappeared. Smoothing out her jacket and patting down her vest, she nodded and faced Lake. He was panting and looked exhausted. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he shook his head. 

“Next time, I’m calling for fucking backup,” he seethed.

“Fine by me,” Monika replied, “I’m not doing that again.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that shit though, either way. Didn’t feel like shooting anyone today.”

“Me neither.”

Lake tapped her on the shoulder. Monika looked over at him. He held out his fist.

“Thanks, partner.”

Monika offered a nervous chuckle and bumped her fist against his. Turning around, she unclipped the megaphone from her belt. Searching the crowd as the protesters picked up their signs and filtered back into Hlinka Expanse, she could not spot the man she took it from. But from the clots of people came the two young women Lake shielded earlier. Timidly they came up to the two officers. 

“We wanted to say thank you,” the first one, a pale faced blonde wearing a pink coat, said in a quiet tone. 

“Yeah, that guy was really crazy,” her friend, a brunette wearing a white knit cap and a blue coat, added. Lake instantly smiled gallantly. 

“It was nothing, ladies. Just doing our jobs.”

Frowning, Monika stepped in front of him.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“We’re okay, but I think we’ll go home for now. Thank you.”

“Have a good day.”

Monika and Lake watched them go down the sidewalk opposite of the big man’s direction. Once they disappeared, her partner decided to return to the cruiser to report in the event. After a brief discussion, they decided they didn’t need anymore units at present but putting some personnel still at the station on standby was a decent precaution. Lake went down to the crosswalk and Monika remained where she was. She decided it would be better for at least one of them to stand by the protest. Even if it earned the ire of the protesters, a uniformed officer was better than no deterrent at all. Once Lake came back, she would go back to pay for their early morning snack. For a moment, she couldn't help but smirk. With order restored, their routine was resuming as if nothing happened at all. No doubt, the realization of how close to a riot they came would hit her just as she slid into bed. Waiting with her hands folded in front of her, she watched the cars go by. Ensuring the street was clear of any more malcontents, she turned around. Monika nearly jumped, for standing right behind her was the megaphone man.

“Sir, don’t approach a police officer from behind like that.”

“I-I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask if I could have that back.”

“I was planning to give it to you,” Monika said and handed it over. He tucked it all under his arm. 

“Thanks. I told everyone to be calm today but some people are just really upset.”

“Upset? They were ready to have a brawl.”

“How would you feel if you were dissatisfied, made that dissatisfaction known, and were continually ignored year after year. Every letter, every meeting, every protest,  _ ignored.  _ It’s one thing to be told no, it’s another to be ignored, officer.”

Monika knew her answer and yet her voice caught in her throat. Before she could summon the words, Lake came up beside her.

“Doesn’t matter how mad you are. It’s not an excuse to break the law and cause chaos in the streets,” he said sternly.

“That’s not what I’m saying, officer,” the man replied, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “You just have to understand the emotions of these people. They’re frustrated, yeah, but they’re not Insurrectionists. We might be angry but  _ those  _ people have been killing folks for twenty-nine years. I’m not going to hurt anyone to make my point.”

The man, who was previously hunched over timidly, was now standing at his full height, just above Monika. His darting eyes were still and his mouth set firmly. Both hands were balled into fists and were trembling. He seemed steadfast in his speech, not dangerous. Light raindrops fell, coursing down the lines of his pronounced cheeks. Monika and Lake looked at one another. The latter appeared unconvinced and uncaring towards the protester’s rhetoric. He sighed heavily and looked at his partner. Offering a quick but understanding smile, Monika looked back at the man. 

“Well, I can certainly appreciate that, sir.”

Suddenly, his pursed lips softened into a kind smile. His posture relaxed and he resumed his somewhat stooped appearance. For a moment, he almost seemed shy.

“I know,” he said. 

“Do you need anything else?”

“Could you stay near the entrance for a little while? I think it might help.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Monika assured him. 

Nodding gratefully, the gentleman went back into Hlinka Expanse. Some of the other demonstrators came up to him and they had a brief discussion. A few patted him in the back while others squeezed his shoulders. All the while, he remained stooped and timid. Eventually, he disappeared into the crowd and the speeches began again soon after. Monika fixed her cap and looked at Lake. Again, he was already looking at her. His gaze was somewhat agitated. 

“Don’t be nice to these people. They were ready to start cracking skulls.”

“So were the people harassing them,” Monika said as she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. Walking over to the side of the gate, she turned around and leaned on the black bars of the fence. Lake joined her, gripping the straps of his vest instead. “What did dispatch have to say?”

Lake explained that during his brief conversation with dispatch they informed him that other counter-protest groups formed. There was a varied level of organization; some formed similarly to their situation while others arrived already in numbers. None had permits, but they prepared signs, information packets of their own, and some were less volatile than others. More police officers were on the way to multiple scenes in which the crowds were becoming abrasive. Some were civil but extra security was being sent anyways. Most of the hostile scenarios were defused but a few were still ongoing.

“The Peacekeeper unit is on standby but they’re not being sent out unless something gets really out of hand.”

“Doesn’t that strike anyone as strange? This all seems way too synchronized.”

“That’s what I thought. That’s what I said, but dispatch told me just to cover our sector.”

“Of course they did,” Monika sulked. Even though she was staring down at her feet, she could feel Lake’s eyes boring into her. Sighing, she looked up at him. She was surprised to see his reassuring smile.

“Weren’t we going to have some coffee?”

“Shit, you’re right. I’ll go-”

Just as she stepped off the fence, she was startled by a stark white camera drone zooming in front of her. A moment later, a well-dressed reporter with wet blonde hair stepped in front of her.

“Hello officer, Anton Malec with NTMO. I was wondering if I could get a few comments from NTPD’s  _ finest  _ on the protests.”

Monika, leaning back slightly as if she was repelled and wide-eyed as the bright light of the drone focused on her face, stared at him for a few moments. She looked over her shoulder at Lake. Knowing that he was in frame as well, he did not speak or gesture. But she could see the reluctance in his eyes as he joined her. 

“Uh, sure...” Monika said hesitantly. 

“Absolutely wonderful!” Malec declared. 

Tucking his microphone under his armpit, he quickly turned to the side and took out a palm-sized mirror. Looking at himself from multiple angles, he smoothed the sides of his hair out, pushed the front back, and practiced a few smiles. 

Monika exchanged an annoyed, disgusted glance with Lake before looking back at the reporter. She could see very easily he had plastic surgery done on his cheeks, making them seem more pronounced and firm. It made his cheeks appear gaunt and the upper part of his face look swollen. When he flashed his teeth at the mirror, she could see those had received work as well. 

When he finally finished, he put the palm mirror away and took out a small bottle. He squeezed the top and sprayed some of the contents into his mouth. Even though he was not immediately in front of them, the minty scent was overpowering. 

Satisfied, Malec stepped in front of Lake and Monika with his microphone. “Okay, what are your names?”

“Monika Pokorný.”

“Jacob Lake.”

“Splendid.” He put a finger to his earpiece. “Ready. Begin live feed.” A red light appeared on the camera of the drone as his hand dropped. “Hello, Anton Malec from New Trnava Media One with another live update. The counter-protest here at Hlinka Park has been swiftly and bloodlessly ended by the intervention of NTPD officers. With me here are those very officers, Monika Pokorný and Jacob Lake. Before we get right down to the issue, why don’t you just give us a little information about yourselves? After all, I think the good people of New Trnava would like to see who’s on the front lines when it comes to these protests.”

Malec turned around and stepped to the side slight. He thrust the microphone into Monika’s face and it took all she had not to recoil. 

“Uh, hi, I’m Officer Pokorný, I’m a corporal in NTPD and a member of our SWAT unit. I’ve been in law enforcement for seven years. I’m also studying for a degree in criminal justice. Oh, and I’m a  Víťazný Február native .” 

The reporter swung the microphone in front of Lake. 

“I’m Officer Lake, I’ve been on the force for four years but I’ve been in law enforcement since I was nineteen. I’m Earthborn, came from a place called New York City. I’m actually a descendant of some of the first African-American cops, so if you want to call it destiny go right ahead.” This he said with a forced smile and chuckle, which Malec reciprocated. “Besides that, I’m working my way up to detective and I’m studying for a criminal justice degree too.”

“Marvelous. Now, you two were right in the middle of the confrontation between the demonstrators and counter-protesters. It was thanks to you that this didn’t turn into a riot. How do you feel?”

“Relieved,” Monika said immediately. “I’m just really glad nobody got hurt.” Lake nodded in agreement. 

“Oh, I can only imagine!” Malec said grandly. 

“But in the thick of it, it’s just the training, you know?” Lake put in. “We get training in a lot of different aspects, especially crowd control and riot response. As chaotic as it looked, we knew what to do.”

“A lot of departments all over the Outer Colonies are stepping up that kind of training,” Monika added. “It’s response training, but the best way to deal with a problem is to solve it before it actually becomes one. Thankfully, we were able to do that this morning.”

“I would have expected more officers to arrive to deal with something like that.”

At this, Monika felt Lake looking at her again. Although it was her first instinct too, something instilled from years of experience and training, the last thing Monika wanted to do was bring more officers on the scene. It defied everything she learned at the academy. More bodies in blue meant there would be more control. But she watched all the news reports coming in front all over the Outer Colonies. On planet after planet, peaceful, permitted protests erupted into riots and mob violence. Some simply grew out of control, others rose from clashes between the radicals and their counterparts, and other times the presence of police triggered on edge protesters into violent acts. Two or three squad cars, amounting to four or six officers, was enough to send hundreds or even thousands into a range. What was worse, too many police units were becoming aggressive in their response. People were getting shot just for holding up a sign. When they came to subdue a situation, they in fact provided the spark which led to an explosion. 

Hundreds were dying in police riots all over the Colonies. Rioters were criminal and had to be dealt with, but innocent protesters were left shot or clubbed in the street. Monika wasn’t about to let that happen. But she was on camera and no doubt plenty of coworkers back at the station were listening or watching the news at that very moment, not to mention thousands of citizens across  Víťazný Február. If an officer blamed other departments or even her own, on live television no less, it would discredit countless agencies and insinuate they were part of the problem. Not many of her superiors or coworkers would agree with her and it was the official policy across the Colonies that the faults lied with the protesters and the Insurrection. Nothing was wrong with their myriad, bureaucratic institutions. 

“There simply wasn’t enough time,” Monika said with a shrug. “One second can make all the difference in situations like that. We really just had to act before it got worse.”

Malec nodded, his eyes narrowed as he pretended to pay attention. 

“What do you think of these protesters here today? After all, they’re protesting  _ you _ and other law enforcement agencies throughout the Colonies. Doesn’t that make you upset or less inclined to protect them?”

Monika glared and her brow furrowed. 

“My duty as a police officer is to protect people regardless of their political opinions or inclinations. Whether they support the rearmament or don’t is irrelevant, not when people’s lives are on the line.”

She meant every word but the amused expression in Malec’s eyes proved he thought she was spouting bravado or that he simply didn’t care.

“If we didn’t feel that way, we wouldn’t have any right being cops,” Lake added. 

“You’ll see UNSC reps, diplomats, planetary governors and the like talking about blurred lines these days. That you can’t tell an Insurrectionist apart from an unaffiliated protester. Sure, maybe it’s hard for your average, deep Inner Colonist watching the TV to tell them apart. But we’re out here everyday. We can tell them apart. It bothers me a great deal that these two, very distinct groups get lumped together.”

“Not to mention a lot of people are taking the opportunity to rampage and look under the guise of protesting. It’s tough, but people on the ground like us have a clearer picture.”

“Well, Officer Lake, the string of police riots might not corroborate such a statement.”

Lake frowned. 

“We’re trying to separate the bad from the good.”

“I see. Changing gears, a lot of the criticism about the rearmament comes from your new weapons being UNSC-issue. How do you feel about receiving such weapons?”

“We’re trained to use these firearms, yes, but as officers we have a duty to use them responsibly. You won’t see us patrolling down New Trnava’s streets like soldiers on patrol,” Lake said. “The local CMA garrison can do that when the Insurrection pops up, but not us.”

Malec briefly rubbed his chin with his free hand. His satisfied grin was widening. Monika could tell he was enjoying the interview. Already, she could see new articles with clips from the interview popping up on multiple channels’ sites. 

“You’ve both expressed some moderate opinions. As citizens of  Víťazný Február, do you sympathize with the protesters regarding increased levels of taxation and shipping rates, the higher demand for agricultural production from the Inner Colonies, and the prospect of UNSC troops supplanting the local CMA garrison?”

“Well, I think you’ve said something very incorrect, Mr. Malec,” Monika said. The smile dropped from the reporter’s face. “We’re not citizens of Víťazný Február, we’re residents. We’re citizens of the United Earth Government. Don’t get me wrong, I love my homeworld and I would do anything for the people who live here. But we’re all UEG citizens; we have jobs, we have families, we all have problems, some more than others. There’s plenty of labels and camps out there, but at the end of the day, we’re all one people.”

Malec didn’t appear impressed or enthused by her answer. Ultimately, however, he put on a false grin. 

“Thank you very much for your time, officers. I think I speak for all of New Trnava when I say we appreciate what you’re doing out here.” Whirling around and stepping in front of the officers, he looked right at his camera drone. “You heard it from NTPD, folks. This Anton Malec with New Trnava Media One, reporting live from Hlinka Expanse.”

He held his posture for a few seconds, then the red light on the camera drone turned off. Putting a finger to his earpiece, he went over to the drone. “How was that...yes, I know...yeah...it was pretty good, wasn’t it? I’ll swing by one of the other demonstrations, see what I can get you there...oh, you know I’m good for it.”

Clearing his throat he turned around. “Well, thanks again officers.” With a half-hearted, dismissive wave of his hand, he headed to his sleek black Fossa which stood among the other news vans. 

When he got in and drove off, Monika and Lake looked at one another. 

“What was that?” Lake asked.

“What was what?”

“At the end. I almost wanted to put my hand over my heart and sing an anthem.”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“How underwhelming,” Lake said in a snide tone. Monika rolled her eyes. 

“How about that coffee, huh?”

“I’ll hold down the fort.”

Sliding her hands back into her jacket pocket, Monika walked down the sidewalk. The rain was falling steadily again, but not enough to be uncomfortable. The sound of the protesters’ voices behind her and the hum of car engines at the intersection faded from her comprehension. It was true, she didn’t know where those words came from. It wasn’t something that had been on her mind of late. Perhaps she heard it brought up in one way or another from time to time, but it was not something she ruminated on at the breakfast table or in her bed at night. Yet, when confronted, a deep feeling rose in her and the words came naturally. 

She began to think of the bespectacled, bearded protester she spoke to just before. Meek, soft-spoken, and unassuming, when he spoke he became a different person. All his ideals were realized in his words, not just to others but himself. They breathed newfound strength into him, raised his voice, puffed out his chest, and made him stand tall. An outsider could look at him and see just another person, an upset, faceless protester who wanted to rock the boat. In that moment, he dispelled such an image and his true convictions became bare to the world. Monika wondered if she went through something similar and the thought brought a satisfied smile to her lips. 

When she finally strolled up to Vidiecka Káva, she was surprised when the door opened in her face. Standing in the threshold was Kamila; in both hands was a white styrofoam covered coffee cup and clutched between her teeth was the handle of a white plastic bag. 

“Omf, Monika,” she said through her teeth, “it’s you! Here, these are your orders.”

Monika quickly took the bag from Kamila’s mouth and draped it over her shoulder. She then took the coffee cups. Kamila fixed her wide, round glasses. “I was just coming to drop this off.”

“You’re a real sweetheart but you didn’t have to do that.”

“I saw what happened through the window. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Is everything alright here?”

“No trouble at all.” Kamila clutched her apron and nervously wiped her hands with it. Her eyes gazed down the road, lingering at the signs visible through the park fencing. “Do you think anything else will happen? 

Monika took a glance herself. Besides a few pedestrians walking in either direction on both sides of the street, and Lake standing by himself at the entrance to Hlinka Expanse, everything seemed calm and peaceful. Turning back around, Monika smiled and shook her head. 

“I’ll be honest, there were some other mishaps like that around the city. But everything’s under control for now. Just keep your radio on and an ear out. I don’t really think anything else will happen, but you never know. Things are pretty hot around here.”

While Kamila didn’t seem entirely at ease, she appeared more relieved than she did before. She clasped her hands together on her apron and smiled brilliantly. 

“Thanks Monika. That really means a lot.”

“Just doing my job,” Monika said with a shrug. “So, what do I owe you?”

“Oh,” Kamila looked between the two cups of coffee and then at the bag. Her nose wrinkled, her brows knitted together, and her lips drew into a concentrated pout. Eventually, she looked up, shrugged, and grinned pleasantly. “You know what, it’s on the house.”

“That’s really sweet, but I can’t accept that. I’ll pay just like everyone else.”

Kamila waved her hand nonchalantly. 

“Really, don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do. I feel safer knowing people like you and Jakey are out there. You’re not a bunch of jackboots. You’re a good egg. So, please, it’s no charge.”

“But Kamila —”

“Up-bup-bup,” Kamila said, narrowing her eyes and wagging her finger back and forth until it nearly touched Monika’s nose. The police officer nearly had to hunch backwards in order to avoid and she stared at it as if she was being threatened with a knife. Eventually, her eyes flicked back up and met with Kamila’s. The owner of the café kept her finger up but her feigned, frustrated expression quickly faded. “No but’s. You’re a friend, and friends get free goodies from time to time.”

“You call every regular your friend,” Monika said with a bit of a sigh but she managed to smile slightly. Giggling, Kamila tapped Monika on the nose real quick. 

“Well, you’re an extra special friend. Now go on, enjoy it all before it gets cold!”

“If you insist. Thanks, Kammy.”

The café owner waved a little before disappearing back into her disappearing back into her establishment. Spinning on her heel, Monika waited for the crosswalk signal and then walked back onto Hlinka Avenue. The rain was picking up again and she picked up the pace, hurrying back to Lake. Her partner was already plucking up his collar and hunching his shoulders to keep the rain from running down his neck. He appeared relieved when she finally arrived and handed him in his cup. 

“Aw, look at that,” he said, holding the cup up and turning it towards Monika. Written on the side in black marker pen was, ‘Jakey.’ Next to it was a stick figure with a poorly drawn police hat and speech bubble that said, ‘Hi, I’m Officer Jakey.’ He proceeded to hold it next to his face as if it bore his resemblance. “Ain’t that Kammy just the sweetest thing?”

Frowning, Monika turned her own white styrofoam cup around to see if Kamila drew her anything. Instead, she just found her own name with flower petals and sparkles around it. 

“Apparently she thinks we’re in the fifth grade,” she sneered before popping the flap of the cover. She took a small sip and sighed, contented. “Nobody makes coffee like her.”

“Beats anything I ever drank on Earth,” Jake said, slurping his own drink. He sighed loudly and smacked his lips; Monika knew he was very aware how much she detested that kind of etiquette, or rather a lack of it. “Still, I never left New York, so what do I know, right?”

As the rain picked up, the pair decided to get back in the car, resolving to watch Hlinka Expanse with greater vigilance than before. Assuming the kid who handed them the leaflet earlier was still in the crowd and unwilling to be in a smart-mouthed protester’s video showing cops J-walking, they went all the way up to the crosswalk. By the time they came back to the cruiser, it was pouring. They both got in and situated themselves as best they could. 

Neither spoke as they drank their coffee and pulled off small chunks from the buchteln. It was delicious; the curd’s tang complemented the sweet taste of the powder which got all over Monika’s fingertips. Each time she finished chewing a piece, she quickly licked her fingers before grabbing another piece. She knew Lake didn’t care. Since he first arrived in the department, they patrolled New Trnava from dawn to dusk five days a week. In that time, they were exposed to each other’s life habits and mannerisms. Albeit, his loud chewing still got on her nerves. 

When they were halfway through the buchteln, the radio crackled to life. 

“Six, C-Six—”

“Already?” Lake groaned. 

“—robbery in progress at 411 Hlinka Avenue—”

“Shit, that’s just down the road,” Monika said, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. 

“—caller indicates suspects are armed with military-grade firearms and are wearing gas masks and vests.”

“Sounds like Innies,” Monika as she picked up the handset. “Six, C-Cix roger, we’re en route, requesting additional units.”

“C-Six, roger, additional units inbound,” said the dispatcher. Lake turned on the cruiser, and then the emergency lights. The siren was kept off. Lake pulled them out of the parking space, turned the cruiser around, and drove quickly down Hlinka Avenue. What few cars there were pulled off to the sides as they sped through the center of the road. 

“Sounds like it’s the Insurrection,” Monika said, worried. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. 

“We didn’t even hear anything. Did they come in without firing a shot?”

“Doesn’t matter. We get on scene and wait for backup,” Monika said. Neither of the partners spoke any further. She pulled out her sidearm and checked it over briefly. It was loaded and the safety was off. Holding in her left hand, she held the door handle with her right. Pulling on it, she popped the door just so that it was unlocked. Looking over at Lake, she saw he was laser focused and was staring straight ahead. Following suit, she gazed down the road and began to control her rapidly increasing breathing. Shutting her eyes, she thought of her daughter Rosie and her little farm back out on the Hollý Plains. She could see her running through the cornfields and playing in the flower garden. Breathing steadily, Monika resolved to be there in the evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It is accordingly our wish and command...that men in our kingdom shall have and keep all these liberties, rights, and concessions, well and peaceably in their fulness and entirety, for them and their heirs, of us our heirs..." - Magna Carta Libertatum (AD1215)


	3. Arms Keep Peace

411 Hlinka Avenue was the address of the New Trnava Central Bank. Like many of the other industry offices and commercial front on the avenue, it was a modern style building with sleek silver panels and deep, sea-blue windows. Unlike the others, its entrance was withdrawn from the evenly spaced building fronts. One wide flight of stairs led to a landing, then another similar flight of stairs ending at the entrance. Six, grooved, pale marble columns hung up a traditional but under-designed overhang, providing a cover for the four sets of double-doors. Across the face of the overhang was the title of the bank. Most residents of New Trnava considered the establishment to be an eyesore. 

As Lake sped towards the bank, Monika pulled the handle of the door so it popped open. She clung onto it, keeping it just out of its frame. Her index finger tapped the handle and she tapped her foot, eager to get it. 

Ahead, there were almost no cars parked on either side of the streets. A team, whether they were organized crime or Insurrectionists, would have required a beefed up getaway vehicle. Custom vans were very common although modified trucks were beginning to see more use throughout the Outer Colonies. What vehicles there were not meant to carry more than two or four people. Characteristic of Hlinka Avenue, most of the employees earned high salaries. No sane hit team was going to get a sleek business car for their job. 

Lake pulled the cruiser halfway up the widened sidewalk in front of the stairs. Immediately, Monika threw off her seatbelt, opened the door, and turned around to grab her shotgun. As she did, she also grabbed the bandoleer of shells. As she stood next to the cruiser situating her gear, she could see through the cab. Lake bent over to grab his M7. As he did, Monika saw the center doors open. Two armed men in gas masks walked out, each holding an HMG-38 machine gun. They leveled the firearms at the cruiser.

“Jake, take cover!” Monika yelled, drawing her pistol. Before she could fire, a hail of bullets hammered the other side of the cruiser. Immediately, the front and rear tires on the driver’s side were blown out and the cruiser listed. Monika ducked down behind the front of the car, covering her head. She heard Lake cry out on the other side. As bullets flew over her head, she changed positions onto her knees and peeked under the bottom of the squad car. Lake was on his back, his hat knocked off and his white teeth clenched tightly. She couldn’t see where he was hit. 

Just then, the firing stopped. Without hesitation, Monika jumped to her feet and discharged the entire magazine in her M6B. The two gunmen ducked behind the columns for cover. 

After she emptied her sidearm, she ejected the magazine and slid a fresh one in. “Jake, I’m coming!”

Monika ran to the end of the car, ran around the side, and found Lake there. At that moment, everything seemed to slow down. As she bent over to grab him, she saw he was hit in both legs. A large, bloody bullet hole pulsated in his right thigh. Two more were in his calf and there was a fourth bullet in his left foot. A fifth round was in his left thigh. Both knees were shot out; they were absolutely pulverized, reduced to smashed bone and oozing blood. 

Then, it all sped up again. She hooked her arm under his shoulders and dragged him back around the cruiser. Although he was in great pain and was crying out as she moved him, he still held the M7 in one hand. Just as she got them into cover, the machine gunners opened up on them again. As the windows cracked under the heavy caliber rounds and the plating was riddled, she crouched down beside him. 

“Fuck, get the blowout kit!” Lake growned. Keeping low, Monika crawled over to the passenger door, reached in, and grabbed their first aid. Rolling back, she unzipped it and pulled out a tourniquet. She promptly placed it above the wounds on his heavily injured leg and tied it off tightly. When she did, Lake cried out long and loud. There was only one, so she took off Lake’s belt and tied it around his other thigh. Then, she retrieved the biofoam canister and stuck the nozzle into both knees, filling them with the foam. 

When they were sealed, she emptied the canister into his other wounds. Tossing it away, she pulled her sidearm back out and spoke into her radio. 

“Six, C-Six, shots fired, officer down, officer down! Requesting immediate backup!”

“C-Six, Six, help is on the way, hold tight,” the dispatcher said, remaining calm.

Monika didn’t respond and peeked through the cab. Bullets tore apart the steering while, the center console, the dashboard, and the data pad. Bits of metal, plastic, and rubber flew everywhere. Sparks burst from the electronics. She slammed the door shut, crouched beside the front tire, and looked at Lake. He was still holding his tourniquets. 

Just when the firing died down, she bounced up and fired again. One of the gunners darted behind cover but one staggered slightly before he did. After expending the magazine, she ducked and reloaded. 

“Monika!”

She looked at Lake just as he tossed her the M7. Immediately, she stood up, pressed the stock into her shoulder, and squeezed the trigger. White chips were blown off the marble columns and little gray puffs appeared on the steps. Controlling the recoil was difficult but Monika managed to fire in controlled bursts, peppering the entire bank. When the magazine was empty, she crouched, ejected it, and reloaded. As she did, she heard approaching sirens. Looking left, she saw two squad cars barreling down the road. To her right, there were two more. Red and blue lights flashed, providing brief illumination to the raindrops and the mist. 

One cruiser overtook the first and parked almost bumper to bumper on either side of Monika and Lake’s vehicle. The preceding vehicle parked behind those, forming a line of black and white cruisers. Officers jumped out of either side and took cover behind their vehicles, drawing M6 sidearms, M7 submachine guns, and WST DTM shotguns. 

Running from the left side was Sergeant Cibulka, clad in a raincoat and vest. He immediately checked over Lake; the pair exchanged a few words which Monika couldn’t hear. She kept popping her head above the hood of the cruiser to see if the gunmen were about to fire again. When she ducked again, she found Cibulka beside her. 

“I’ve got one cruiser at each end of the Avenue locking down the intersections and another evacuating protestors from Hlinka Expanse,” he said, pointing in both directions. “How many are we dealing with?”

“Two guys with machine guns and a lot of ammo to spare,” Monika replied. “There’s bound to be more inside. I haven’t seen any hostages yet.”

Cibulka processed this for a moment, grabbed his radio, and called dispatch. He requested two more cruisers, medical and to mobilize a SWAT team. Dispatch responded affirmatively. The Sergeant turned to Monika. 

“We’ll wait for backup and then the SWAT commander will formalize a game plan.”

“Lake needs to get to a hospital,” Monika said. “That biofoam won’t hold forever.”

“Medical’s on the way. We’re going to have to take him to them, though. Anybody who’s not a cop won’t be coming into this cordon.” Cibulka quickly peeked over the hood of the cruiser and then ducked back down. “We’re fucking bullet magnets here.”

“There’s no other cover!” Monika urged. For a moment, the veteran police officer’s face grew paler and he looked around, seemingly searching for a solution. Suddenly, his brows furrowed and he looked back at her.

“Two, right? You said there’s two of them?”

“Affirmative!”

Cibulka raised his gaze just above the hood of the cruiser. He surveyed the area once again and then looked to the sides. Monika kept the M7 raised and aimed at the bank, searching for the slightest movement. She felt the Sergeant tap her shoulder and she looked over. 

“Cover me,” he hissed. As he sprinted towards his own cruiser at a half-crouch, Monika turned her sights back on the bank. None of the gunmen fired their weapons or appeared from behind the columns. Her heart was racing but she was focused now, the M7 grip comfortable in her hands. She was so fixated on the bank she nearly jumped when she heard the loudspeaker mounted on Cibulka’s cruiser crackle to life. 

Briefly, she looked over and saw him crouching on the street side of his car. The door was open, obscuring all but his head and feet. He was holding the microphone to his mouth. 

“This is the New Trnava Police Department. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands up”

There was no response. After waiting for thirty seconds, Cibulka raised his voice. “I said put down your weapons and put your hands over your fucking heads!”

Just then, a single man emerged from each of the four double doors. Each one wore olive drab fatigues, black vests and ballistic gear, balaclavas, and gas masks. In their hands were HMG-38 machine guns. The four new suspects leveled their weapons at the cruisers. 

Before anybody could holler for the rest to take cover, the air was filled with machine gun fire. Monika ducked down, pressed herself into the pavement, covered her head, and curled up in a ball behind the front tire. Bullets hammered the road, thudded into the side of her cruiser, and smashed glass windows. Whizzing and snapping ferociously, it was light being caught in the middle of a freak rainstorm. 

Rolling over, she checked on Lake. Still sitting against the cruiser, he covered his head with both hands and shook as the bullets hit on the other side. Beyond him, Cibulka and other officers took cover as best they could. Nobody could raise themselves onto their knees or crouch to return fire, let alone stand. Turning onto her back, Monika looked up and saw lines of red tracers flying overhead. Arcing from side to side, it reminded her of a scythe felling wheat. 

Finally, the gunners ran out of ammo. Just as Monika jumped back onto her feet and began firing the M7, they disappeared behind the columns. Other officers stood up and shot at the columns with a combination of submachine gun, pistol, and shotgun fire. Marble chips and pale dust billowed out from each impact on the pillars and steps. Sirens filled the air as more cruisers arrived from either intersection and added to the line of vehicles. Officers poured out, armed with service weapons, and contributed to the gunfire. 

So busy draining and reloading magazines, Monika didn’t notice that Cibulka was tugging on her pant legs. Crouching down, they were face to face and screaming just to be heard over the noise. 

“Medical is down at the intersection!” he shouted, pointing past her. “Let’s get Lake there!”

Monika nodded and moved over her partner. Squeezing his shoulder, she looked at him reassuringly. 

“We’re going to get you out of here, Jake!”

“Yeah, you better!” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

“I got his legs,” Monika said. Both officers helped Lake away from the cruiser; Cibulka hooked his arms under the injured officer’s armpits while Monika gripped him by his thighs and hefted his legs under her arms. 

“On three: one, two, three!”

In tandem, they stood up. Lake screamed in agony. Trotting backwards, Monika craned her neck to see where she was going. “Covering fire! Covering fire!” Cibulka shouted at the other officers. Everyone was reloading and shooting as fast as they could. But the bank robbers were growing bolder despite the gunfire bearing down on them. In intervals, they popped out of cover, fired a burst of HMG-38 rounds, and ducked back. Rounds began whizzing by Monika’s head, between her legs, and in front of her. All she could do was wince, lower her head, and hunch her shoulders like one did when caught in a gust of strong, cold wind. 

She looked up at Cibulka. The Sergeant was wide-eyed and was gulping for air. Lake was tall, strong, and heavy. Despite sharing the weight, they were barely jogging. Between them, the injured officer was shouting and swearing in pain. Every movement sent jolts of pain up and down his legs. Although it was holding, the beige biofoam was beginning to turn red. 

Throwing a brief glance over her shoulder, Monika found that the intersection seemed like it was miles away. They were going so slow. In the center was a police cruiser with a pair of officers on either side. Both were behind their open door; the one on the driver’s side was waving and screaming something at them while the other was trying to shoot at the bank. Parked nearby was the ambulance. The rear doors were already open and the EMT’s were preparing their equipment. Above them, all the traffic lights were red and they glow menacingly in the rain. 

Gritting her teeth, Monika made one final effort and suddenly the EMT’s were on either side of her. Two more appeared with a roller stretcher. Shouting orders and trying to carry Lake, it was frenzied confusion. Lake was placed on the stretcher and raced over to the ambulance. He was in so much pain tears were rolling down his cheeks. As they prepared to lift him into the back, they checked the tourniquets and noted the biofoam.

Finally out of the line of fire, Monika braced her hands on her knees and caught her breath. When she finally stood back up, she cast one looked back towards the bank. More cruisers were being directed to the firefight. Ten were now lined up in front of the bank and officers were behind almost every single one. The gunfire had subsided but everyone was keeping their weapons trained on the building. Turning around, Monika began walking towards the ambulance to check on Lake. But Cibulka grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around. “SWATs here.”

Two large armored cars came rolling down the street. Parking side by side in the shape of a V, the rear doors swung open. A team of eight SWAT officers flooded out from each vehicle. Every single man were clad in dark blue fire retardant tactical uniforms and black ballistic vests, knee guards, and elbow pads. On the back of the vests in bold white letters was the word, ‘POLICE.’ All wore black helmets with clear or orange tinted facial shields on the top. Attached to their belts were gas masks, smoke grenades, and flashbangs. While some weapons they carried could be found in an average cruiser, such as the WST DTM shotgun, their primary weapons consisted of modular MA3A assault rifles. Most were equipped with tactical sights or scopes, infrared laser units, flashlights, and suppressors. 

Lieutenant Bosko emerged, holding his MA3A in his left hand and his tactical helmet in his right. He was a well-kept kind of man; he was clean-shaven and bald, with a thick jaw and a muscular neck. Even out of uniform, he was a large, looming sort of man. 

“Report,” was all he said as he approached Cibulka and Monika. 

“We’ve got six suspects on the landing in front of the doors armed with HMG-38 machine guns. We believe one of them is wounded. Both intersections to Hlinka Avenue are shut down, the Expanse is being cleared, and we’re pinned down in the street.”

Bosko grunted, clipped the strap of his helmet to his belt, and slung his MA3A over his shoulder. As he pulled a data pad from one his chest pouches, he motioned for everyone to fall him over to the single cruiser. Forming a semicircle around it, they leaned as he rested the data pad on the hood. Opening a recently sent file, he pulled up several blueprints of New Trnava Central Bank. 

“The bank only has two entrances,” Bosko began. “The front and a loading dock on the opposite side in a widened alleyway. Armored cars come here to deposit hard-copy credits. This entrance consists of two large doors for vehicles and a single doorway for security guards.” With his index finger and thumb, he zoomed in on the blueprint. “I’ll move my team to the adjacent street on foot, seize the loading bay, and then move into the bank. Our primary objective is to locate and free the hostages; secondary is to subdue all of the bank robbers.”

“Lieutenant, we don’t know how many hostages there are or how many gunmen they have. We’ll be going in blind,” Monika said. 

“We’re handling that, Corporal,” Bosko said as two more operatives marched down the ramp of the closest SWAT car. Both were dressed in similar equipment as the other team members. One was carrying an antenna and the other a portable terminal. Everyone stepped aside as they set propped both items on the hood of the cruiser. The antenna was extended upwards and stood at a meter and a half in height. It was plugged into a port in the terminal and the operator began to type in codes. 

Bosko picked up his data pad, linked it to the terminal wirelessly, and plugged in a few commands. In a few moments, the blueprints appeared on the screen. “Thanks to the New Trnava Superintendent, we can tap into the bank’s remote security cameras and feed it here. With those, we can find the location of the hostages and the number of suspects inside.”

“Link establishing, sir,” said the operator. A new window appeared with a horizontal bar slowly filling. When the bar was filled, about a dozen separate smaller windows appeared on the left side of the screen.

For a moment, Monika felt a jump in her stomach. It was the first time since the shooting began she felt like the initiative was in their hands. But her spirits quickly dropped. The first images the cameras showed were men in fatigues with bottles of black spray paint. Standing on chairs or other furniture, they were face to face with the cameras. After a few moments, each of the robbers began to spray the camera. In seconds, half the camera footage was nothing but black. 

“Quick, what are the locations on the remaining cameras!” Bosko shouted, looking over the shoulder of the operator. “Somebody write this down!” Monika quickly pulled her note pad from her pocket, pulled out a pen, and began to scribble. 

“Second floor, offices, pod one, five hostages in the center, two armed suspects. Second floor, offices, pod two, three hostages, one armed suspect.” As the operator listed them, the screens began to go dark with spray paint. “Second floor, employee lounge, three hostages...fuck. Uh, third floor, offices, pod three, no hostages, no—”

“Skip it, skip it!” Bosko ordered. 

“—third floor, manager’s office, one hostage, three armed suspects!”

After she jotted it down, Monika looked up briefly. In an instant, she saw a man in a suit being tied to a roller chair behind a fine, polished oak desk. She could only assume it was the manager; he was gagged and there was a blindfold around his eyes. One man was doing the tying with a thick coil of rope while another pointed an M6A sidearm at the hostage’s head. A third was sitting on the edge of the opposite side of the desk. Unlike the others, his gas mask was sitting on the top of his head. He still wore a balaclava. Holding an M6B in his hands, he was polishing the barrel with a white cloth and was pulling the slide back and forth, as if he was testing it. A moment later, he ejected the magazine, inspected it, and slid it back in. Then, he looked up at the camera, pointed the pistol at it, and fired. The camera feed flashed white and then turned black. 

“What about the rest?” Monika asked.

“Nothing, all of the remaining rooms are empty,” the operator said, clearly stressed. “Wait, we have one on the loading bay. Look.” Everyone leaned in. The bay consisted of a platform with two large, divided spaces big enough for a company truck to park. Both of the huge rear doors parallel to the parking spaces were closed but the employee entrance on the right side was open. Two security guards in black trousers and white shirts were lying in pools of blood on the platform. Monika was scribbling down her notes when one of the perpetrators stormed out the door and shot the camera. The terminal operator threw up his hands as more of the armed perpetrators entered the rooms and either shot the cameras or covered the screens with spray paint. 

Bosoko ran a gloved hand over his smooth head, sighed, and shook his head. 

“Alright, at least we know where  _ some  _ of them are. Enlarge the blueprint of the second floor. Progressing from the loading dock, we’ll utilize this hallway to get to one of the employee stairwells. From there, we’ll ascend to the second floor, secure the hostages, and eliminate the hostiles. At that point, we’ll have Alpha Team hold the second floor while Bravo Team evacuates the hostages. After we regroup, Alpha and Bravo Teams will clear the third floor. Then, we’ll hit the ground floor.”

He turned around and faced Cibulka. “Sergeant Cibulka, I’m going to need extra security on the loading bay once my teams have inserted. Contact dispatch for two additional units, medical, and a third SWAT team. I want the extra men to provide a base of fire from the second floor balcony overlooking the main floor.”

“On it,” Cibulka said and began speaking into his radio. 

“Lieutenant, do you want me to get some extra tac-gear and come with you?” Monika asked. 

“Negative. I want you in command of the officers at the loading by. Cibulka, you have command out front. Keep them occupied and be ready to move on my order.” Lieutenant Bosko then turned around and faced his men. “Gentlemen, masks on.”

All of the men lifted their visors and took off their helmets. Everyone took a knee as they pulled their black gas masks over their faces. Each man tightened the straps and sealed the mask against their skin. Checking each other, they gave each other a series of nods and thumbs-up gestures before putting their helmets back on. Bosko, now in full regalia, pressed a finger to his ear. “Radio check, radio check. Sound off.”

Each man parroted a number. When they finished, Bosko took his MA3A in hand and rotated his hand in the air. Each man readied their rifles and fell in behind him. “Pokorný, let’s go.”

Monika exchanged a brief glance with Cibulka, who offered only a nod. Adjusting her cap, Monika walked up behind the last man in the column. Bosko waved his hand and they trotted out of the intersection, onto the sidewalk, and up to the corner of the next street over. Just before they were out of sight of the intersection, Monika looked back to see Cibulka running back down Hlinka Avenue. 

Turning the corner, they moved down the street. Like on Hlinka Avenue, the street was lined with big corporation storefronts. They passed a robotics showcasing department and a COM-pad appliance shop with windows filled with the latest mobile devices before they arrived at the pave alleyway leading to the bank. Hugging the buildings, the column halted at the corner when Bosko raised his hand sharply. Crouching, he and another man who remained standing peeked around the corner with their weapons raised. After a few moments, they pointed down the alleyway with the flat of their hands. 

Like water flowing past a rock, the rest of the team members trickled past the point men and entered the alley. Alpha Team remained against the left wall and Brave Team hugged the right. The first man in front of each team kept his weapon raised towards the front. They moved slowly, their booted feet shuffling along the pavement. When they entered the square-shaped bay, they continued to hug the walls and flow along the perimeter. 

Although she still had the M7, Monika transitioned to her M6B and shifted the submachine gun over her shoulder by its strap. Just as she brought up, the half-open door of the employee entrance opened. One of the gunmen walked out, an MA3 assault rifle in his hands. All of the SWAT team members pointed their weapons at him. 

“Drop the weapon!” someone shouted, his voice muffled by his gas mask. Instead, the robber began to raise it up to fire. One of the men with a suppressed MA3A took aim and fired a single shot. The bullet struck the gunmen in the forehead. He crumpled over and rolled down the stairs leading up to the entrance. 

Just then, both of the large bay doors were raised. As they lifted, they revealed a prone robber with an HMG-38. With their fields of fire clear, both machine gunners began firing. Monika dove for cover at the base of the platform with several other team members. Behind her, she heard two offices fall. When she looked back, one was holding his throat as blood leaked between his fingers. The other was clutching his shoulders. On the other side of the bay, Lieutenant Bosko moved quickly with two other men. Sliding into cover at the base of the platform, all three sprung up and emptied their magazines. Moments later, the machine gun fire ceased. 

“Clear!”

Monika immediately rushed over to the SWAT trooper with the throat wound. Tearing his hands from it, she found blood gushing from the hole. Knowing troopers packed their biofoam and medical kits in the largest pouch of their belts, she rolled him onto his side, tore the pouch off, and unzipped it. She took out the canister, gently plugged the nozzle into the bullet wound, and squeezed the trigger. Beige foam flowed into the wound and sealed. Immediately, the trooper wheezed and coughed. She went over to the other wounded team member and filled his shoulder wound with biofoam. 

Beside her, Bosko crouched down and pressed his finger against his earpiece.

“C-Six this is Alpha Team Leader. Two officers down, one critical.”

“Roger. Medical and additional units already inbound.”

“Pokorný,” Bosko said, “the additional units are on their way. Get these men out of here and then organize security here.”

“Yes, sir!”

Bosko and his remaining troopers stacked up along the doorways and the employee entrance. After sweeping the inner loading area, where they found an elevator, hallway door to the basement, and a stairwell to the employee walkways, they flooded in. Monika turned her attention back to the two casualties. She knew them both; the one with the shoulder wound was named Roman Horník; for five years he was a solid company man with a wife and a baby on the way. The other was Adrián Král, a six year veteran who went into SWAT when Monika did. First, she went over to Horník and gave him back his MA3A. “Hey, I need you to cover the door while I get the EMT’s and a stretcher. Can you do that for me?” 

“Fucking-A, I can,” he wheezed through clench teeth. He propped himself up against the corner of the alleyway and raised his weapon. 

“I’ll be right back, okay? Right back.” Monika rushed over to Král to check on him one last time. The biofoam was holding firmly but Král wasn’t speaking. Standard protocol for neck wounds meant minimized head movement and no talking so as not to weaken or dislodge the biofoam. As effective as the substance was when it formed, no risks were to be taken. 

Tapping him on the chest reassuringly, she holstered her sidearm and jogged down the alleyway. When she emerged on the street, she found two cruisers, an ambulance, and a SWAT armored car rolling towards her. She waved her arms to get their attention. One of the cruisers parked on the sidewalk right beside her while the other drove past and parked horizontally across the street. Between them, the ambulance and the armored car parked side by side with the rear of the vehicles pointed towards the alley. Almost at the same time, the doors opened. The third SWAT team dismounted and formed a perimeter with the four officers. Four EMT’s emerged, two from the cab and two from the back. They lowered a stretcher and then propped up the suspension so it was on wheels. 

Monika ordered them to follow. Half of the SWAT team came with them as well. Together, they moved down the alleyway and into the loading bay. Both men were still alive. The EMTs lowered the stretcher and placed him on it with the utmost care, ensuring his head did not move. Quickly, they wheeled him away. Meanwhile, Monika helped Horník onto his feet and helped him down the alley. Back on the street, they watched as the stretcher was lifted up into the rear of the ambulance utilizing the vehicle’s lift. Once he was inside and wheeled to the front, Horník was escorted inside. Before he went in, he turned around in the doorway and handed Monika his MA3A. 

“You might need this,” he said, his voice thick with pain. 

One of the EMTs turned around. 

“We’ve got two more coming to treat the wounded and provide care to the hostages.”

“Got it, now get these men out of here,” Monika said. The ambulance drove off and she found Charlie Team’s leader, Sergeant Zlocha. His men were already wearing their gas masks. “I’m going to keep my officers here to hold down the street. Bosk wants you to hold there until further orders.”

Zlocha responded with a nod and then ordered his team up. Monika turned to the other police officers. “Okay, I want you two watching that end and you two watching the other. Other units are locking down adjacent intersections, just make sure we don’t have any idiots rolling through here.”

Suddenly, she heard gunfire on Hlinka Avenue. It was the drumfire of the enemy HMG-38’s. Intermixed was the  _ pop, pop, pop  _ of M6B’s and the chatter of M7’s. Monika grabbed her radio from her vest and switched frequencies. “Sarge, update!”

For a moment, she heard static. Then, there was gunfire and shouting. 

“There’s more of them!” Cibulka shouted. “I’ve got two officers down!” 

“Sit tight, I’m calling the cavalry.” She switched frequencies again. “Six, C-Six, requesting two Peacekeeper units on Hlinka Avenue.”

“C-Six, Six, roger, deploying Peacekeepers.”

Just as the conversation ended and the extra ambulances arrived, Monika heard new gunfire. This time, it sounded like it was coming from inside the building. MA3’s and MA3A’s rattled with bursts of HMG-38 fire in between. Monika ran back into the alleyway and met with Zlocha who was monitoring the SWAT team communications. 

“Alpha and Bravo Team just got hit in a stairwell. They’ve got men down—” From within, grenade detonations thudded. Windows were blown out and everyone took cover as glass fell all over the loading bay. The shooting seemed louder now and tracers came out of the windows. Flashbangs went off, casting brief gouts of bright white light out the windows. Screaming erupted and was swiftly ended by gunfire. A figure emerged at the window and fell out. 

Again, everybody rushed out of the way. The body landed with a sickening  _ crunch  _ on the glass-covered pavement. For a moment, Monika couldn’t make out if it was one of the SWAT team members or one of the robbers. His ballistic vest was torn apart and he was shot so many times his entire uniform was drenched in blood. Upon closer inspection, she was sickened to see it was one of the troopers. 

Zlocha swore and shook his head. “They managed to get onto the landing of the second floor but they’re pinned down.”

“Movement, front!”

Everyone whirled around, drew their weapons, and aimed into the loading bay. Staggering down the stairs were several SWAT team members. Each man was wounded and bloody. 

“Friendlies, friendlies, friendlies!”

“Move onto the street!” Monika ordered, ushering them along. More troopers began to appear, some wounded, others not. 

“Where’s Lieutenant Bosko?” Zlocha shouted, grabbing one of the team leaders, Jurčo, by his collar. “Hey, where the fuck are the others?”

“Dead or lost. We lost track of each other when we tried to storm the second floor,” he panted. “Bosko took a hit in the leg. I couldn’t get to him.”

“Get to medical, go,” Zlocha said. “Fuck. Charlie Team, we got officers down in there. We’re going to get them out. Let’s go.”

“I’m coming too,” Monika said, holstering her sidearm and flicking the safety off on her MA3A. Zlocha didn’t argue and fell in behind the point man. The team pushed into the bay and moved steadily up the stairs. Already, they came across one of their officers. One of the men checked his pulse and shook his head. 

Zlocha halted the team halfway up the stairs, then took his WST DTM from his shoulder and moved to the doorway on the left side of the landing. The point man, armed with an MA3A, went with him. Stacked up against the door, Zlocha quickly peeked around. A burst of automatic fire flew through the door. Immediately, the team leader primed a flashbang and lobbed it inside. When it detonated, he switched to the other side of the door and waved for the rest of the team to push up. 

Once they were gathered in the landing, he made a hand signal to throw another flashbang. Both he and the point man pulled the pins and threw them inside. Two larger detonations rocked the second floor. “Move, move, move!” Zlocha ordered. 

Monika, bringing up the rear, watched as trooper after trooper disappeared onto the second floor. Gunfire tore through the walls, allowing small rays of light to stream through. More firing could be heard. As she came to the door, she felt her heart in her throat and she heard how ragged her breathing was. 

Darting around the corner, she found the second floor a place of destruction. Office walls were torn apart by fragmentation grenades. Furniture was thrown all over the place. Potted plants were broken and black soil covered the floor. Multiple bubblers were shot up and water was streaming through holes in the jugs. Smoke swirled everywhere and the fluorescent lighting made it a stark haze. Bodies were everywhere, some in green, others in blue. 

“Clear!” Zlocha shouted. “NTPD, sound off!”

For a few tense moments, there was silence. Suddenly, there was a rustle from an office doorway on their left. Several of the troopers shifted their weapons towards it. A gloved hand waving an NTPD cap appeared. “Thank god,” Zlocha murmured and began to approach. “Bosko, I thought—”

Suddenly, a man in olive drab fatigues and black ballistic gear appeared in the doorway and emptied an entire M6B magazine into Zlocha’s face. As the trooper fell over, the rest of the team shot the gunmen to pieces. Riddled with bullets, he staggered back into the room and flopped over against a desk. 

“Hold position,” Monika ordered, approaching with her MA3A raised. When she reached the corner, she quickly peeked in with her rifle. Besides the fresh corpse, there were two more dead robbers and one dead SWAT member. Monika couldn’t tell who it was as they were wearing a helmet and mask, but she could tell by the shape of his torso it wasn’t Bosko. 

She walked out of the room. “Clear. Keep holding. You three, keep your guns on those stairs,” she said, pointing down the hall towards the landing leading to the first floor. “You three, keep your sights up on the offices.”

With another trooper, she inspected the next office and found it empty. But when she went to the third in the pod, she could hear movement inside. Looking over her shoulder, she indicated with her hand there was someone inside. In turn, the trooper tried to hang her a flashbang. Monika declined, quickly crossing her hand back and forth across her neck, indicating, ‘no-go.’ She ordered him to watch her back and then took a deep breath. “NTPD coming in!” she shouted as she canted around the corner. 

“Hold fire!” came the response. Inside, she found three troopers aiming their weapons back at her. Everyone lowered them at the same time. 

“Are you all that’s left?”

“No, we’ve got the Lieutenant, Fiala, Sejna with us,” answered one of the troopers. Monika came into the room and found Bosko with the other two casualties taking cover behind the desk. 

“Did anybody else make it to another room?” she asked the first trooper. He shook his head. “Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Ushering men from Charlie Team into the room and the rest to provide cover, the injured were collected. The survivors from Alpha and Bravo Team were the first to go back down the stairwell, then Monika collapsed Charlie Team back down. She was the last one out. 

When they finally exited the loading bay and went back onto the street, she helped Bosko over to the ambulance. He was shot in the left forearm, right bicep, right thigh, and in both feet. Still, he was able to limp along with help. As the EMTs tended to other casualties, she helped him over to the ramp of the SWAT car. Sitting him down, she began to treat his wounds with a first aid kit provided by one of Charlie Team’s members. “Hang in there, sir, we’ll get you out of here in no time flat,” she assured him. 

Monika helped him take off his helmet and then his gas mask. He gulped for air and cast it aside. His eyes were very wide and he was taking shallow breaths. To see such a strong, experienced officer looking disturbed like that was an immense shock to Monika. For a moment, she stopped working and simply stared at the man. She was unable to comprehend the disconnect between his strategic confidence less than twenty minutes earlier and the fugue state he was seemingly in. 

Swallowing hard, she tapped his good shoulder and began to fill his wounds with biofoam. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of here.”

“Pokorný,” he finally said, grabbing her by the strap of her vest to get her attention. With his other hand, he took his radio from his vest and handed it to her. “Confirmed...Insurrectionists. Call dispatch and relate this security code.” He reached into his pocket, produced his notepad, and flipped to a page with a series of letters and numbers on it.

“I don’t know this code, what’s it for?” Monika asked. 

“Colonial Military Administration support.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Arms keep peace," - Latin proverb


	4. Brave Men

Outside of New Trnava sat Camp Waycastle, the main operating base for the Colonial Military Administration forces. It consisted of a large airfield flanked by hangars and warehouses. On the tarmac, a small number of Pelicans were maintained by the small UNSC Air Force maintenance crews sent along as part of the joint mission in the region. Most of the open hands were empty save for a few strike craft operated by the Air Force. In the adjacent compound was a series of workshops, maintenance sheds, supply and fuel depots, and the motor pool. M12 Warthogs and Bison APC’s were in the largest supply but several M808B Scorpion tanks. CMA guards patrolled casually between the sub-compounds and straightaways linking them. Infantry barracks, a hospital, a sizable mess hall, and the armory were in the next compound. Beside it were the main headquarters and administrative centers, closest to the main entrance. High concrete walls topped with ramparts, guard towers, titanium barricades, and hesco bastions lined the paved roads, checkpoints, and routes all throughout the wall base.

Second Lieutenant Roman Klec hastily exited the barracks clad in his OCP camouflage fatigues. His dark hair was freshly trimmed into a regulation crew cut; he still had a few hairs on his full cheeks and angular jaw. Jogging across the road as a Warthog approached, he flashed his ID at the guard at the security checkpoint to the TOC. The first floor was characterized by offices and cubicle working stations. Numerous CMA personnel were at their monitoring typing reports or going over recent operations. More were gathering in a nearby lounge and huddled in front of the wall-mounted widescreen television. Briefly, Klec stopped in the doorway and peered in. 

On the screen was a reporter standing by a sleek newscaster van topped with rader dishes and antennas. Behind him, pedestrians were lining the police barricade while uniformed officers held up their hands and ordered them to get back. Behind them, countless squad cars were lined up on the street in front of New Trnava Bank. Officers were taking cover behind their vehicles. Ticker tape ran across the bottom of the screen in English and Slovakian: SHOOTOUT AT NEW TRNAVA BANK. 

“...and this is Anton Malec with another live report regarding the standoff between suspected Insurrectionists and NTPD officers. It appears the police are unable to breach the bank and the Insurrectionists show no sign of giving up. Attempts at communication and negotiation have apparently failed, and the police are adjusting their strategy to end the situation as quickly as—”

Behind him, gunfire erupted. Yellow muzzle flashes flickered along the front windows and doors of the bank. Police took cover, waited for it to die down, then stood back and returned fire with M6A and M7’s. Anton Malec quickly ducked behind the open door of the van for cover. 

As the TOC staff murmured to one another, Lieutenant Klec hurried up the stairs to the second floor. Here, he found the operations center; monitors with tactical displays, field data, and signatures of units currently conducting patrols, lined the circular walls of the room. A communications bank was on the left side, the largest monitor was on the far wall, and on the right were more operations staff at their stations. In the center was a circular projector table which was lined with officers.When he entered, Klec immediately saluted his superior, Colonel Lexmann. 

“Lieutenant, we’ve got a situation developing in downtown New Trnava,” said the lanky senior officer. He had stubby gray sideburns and a crew cut much like Klec’s. He had a studious gaze, complemented by his dignified lined forehead and sleek eyeglasses. Beside him was a younger officer from the UNSC Army. Unlike the majority of personnel who were in various stages of fitness, he had the body of a prime athlete. Broad-chested with a V-shaped torso, muscles that bulged against his ACU blouse, and a commandeering gaze. His hair was a little thicker than some of the CMA officers, but was nonetheless within regulations. 

“Yes sir, I caught some of it on the way in,” Klec replied, nervously parting his gaze from the domineering glare from the UNSC advisor, Major Belshaw. One of the other operations officers activated a data pad and a holographic projection of the bank came up on the large screen behind everyone. The main staff turned to face it. As the building projection was separated into semi-transparent sections, each level and dimensions of the structure was outlined. 

Lexmann went up to it and began pointing. “We’ve got NTPD units here on the street, keeping the Innies from breaking out. SWAT tried to bust through the rear entrance; they’ve confirmed they’ve taken down several of the suspects. But these Innies aren’t stupid; they have tac-gear and military-grade weapons. SWAT took a lot of casualties and now they’re requesting our support. Get the QRF wheels-up, proceed to the bank, assume operational authority, and eliminate the Insurrectionists at all costs.”

Major Belshaw looked at Lexmann abruptly.

“Assume operational authority? Colonel, we can’t expect trained police units to fall under the command of a junior CMA officer.”

“With respect, Major, I’ve commanded plenty of QRF operations before.”

Belshaw turned around and glared at him menacingly. 

“I’m well aware of that, Lieutenant, and it’s because of your conduct during those operations I’m recommending Colonel Lexmann to send another, higher-ranking officer on this mission.” He turned back to the senior officer. “These aren’t just some backwater militias, these are well-trained, well-armed Insurrectionists who know what they’re doing, Colonel.”

“And I assume you’d rather we send you instead of a CMA officer,” Lexmann said. “Looking to get another ribbon on your rack, Major?”

“Sir, there are NTPD officers  _ dying  _ out there. You need to send someone with more experience, or at least experience that doesn’t involve fragging rooms with innocent civilians inside and burning down homes.”

“Lieutenant Klec is in command of the QRF platoon. He will follow his orders.”

“Sir, my duty as an an adviser—”

“Is to provide input on tactical situations for the local CMA garrison, which you have and it’s been noted by the commanding officer. Lieutenant Klec, fall out.”

With a salute, he turned on his heel and jogged out of the TOC. Storming back into the barracks, he dashed down the halls to his platoon’s section. Many were already dressed in their combat uniforms, were donning their body armor, and collecting their weapons.

“Hurry up, boys!” Klec called. “We’re heading to New Trnava Bank to bail out some cops! Weapons and ammo only! Grenadiers, get to the armory and load up on CS grenades and flashbangs! Bring your gas masks! Weapons, pack light!”

Going to his own quarters, he threw on his own body armor and chest rig, followed by his elbow and knee pads. He stuffed MA5B magazines into his rig before picking up the weapon itself. After loading it, he slung the strap over his shoulder and ran back out into the hall. Men in the QRF came rushing by, some still carrying their backs by a strap and others holding their rifles up with one hand. As he waited for them to come by the platoon sergeant, a squat fellow named Sladky, came running up.

“That’s everybody, sir,” he said and the pair began walking down the hall together. “How much intel we got on this one?”

“Not enough but we have to get out there fast. We’ll know from the cops who are already there.”

“Can’t believe these guys can’t handle their own shit.”

“What do you expect from some ghetto cops?”

As they came out of the building, they found three Bisons and two Warthogs already lined up. The engines were hot and rumbling, the ramps of the APC’s were down, and the men were organizing themselves into their squads before mounting up. Much to Klec’s disappointment, Major Belshaw was waiting beside the leading APC. He had his large arms folded across his chest and he looked very serious. “Shit,” Klec muttered under his breath. As he passed by, he saluted the senior officer. But Belshaw reached out and put a hand on his chest rig. 

“Listen to me, Lieutenant,” he warned, “just do this by the book. Work with the cops, listen to what they have to say, and don’t do anything stupid. There are innocent people in there. Do  _ not  _ put them at risk.”

“Major, I don’t mean any disrespect,” Klec said as he firmly pushed Belshaw’s hand down. “But I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary to complete this mission.”

Belshaw said something in French and then stormed off back to the TOC. Klec looked at Sladky, who scoffed and shook his head. Turning to the rest of the platoon, he waved his hand in the air. “Mount up, boys!”

He went up the ramp into the first Bison and sat down at the end. His RTO, Hornik, sat beside him while Sladky sat across from them with the platoon medic, Mudry. As the engine roared and the APC began rolling out of the main operating base, Klec ordered a weapons check. Everyone patted down their chest rigs, secured body armor pieces, adjusted the straps and velcro covers of their pouches, and ensured their weapons were ready. Klec turned on his radio and began speaking on the SQUADCOM net. “Comms check, comms check, this is Two-Six. All Red stations, go ahead in sequence.”

“Two-One, check,” said Sergeant Slezak, in command of First Squad.

“Two-Two, check,” replied Second Squad’s commander, Sergeant Kocian.

“Two-Three, check,” Sergeant Mraz, commanding Third Squad, put in.

“Two-Four, check,” the Weapons Squad’s leader, Sergeant Orvec, punctuated the transmission. Lieutenant Klec nodded.

“Alright, we’re heading to New Trnava Bank, link up with the cops, and save the fucking day. Let’s show them what the CMA can do.”

The men around him nodded and smiled eagerly. A few banged their fists against the hull of the Bison, excited.

The convoy turned onto the main highway leading into New Trnava from the south. The Bisons were not as nimble as the Warthogs, so the lighter reconnaissance vehicle matched their speed. However, they made quick time down the highway and many civilian cars pulled over to allow them to pass. Soon, they were within the city limits and rolling down the streets. A police car pulled in front of the lead vehicle with his emergency lights flashing. A brief exchange over the comms indicated they would lead them towards Hlinka Avenue.

Suddenly, there was a barrage on the sides of the Bison. A series of dull  _ thuds  _ resounded throughout the APC.

“Are we there already? We being shot at?” Sladky asked.

“Negative,” said the driver, “there are protesters on the streets and they’re throwing garbage at us.”

“Well that’s nice of them,” Hornik complained, “we’re here to protect them from a terrorist attack and they thank us by throwing shit at us.”

“There’s no pleasing these people,” Klec told him, “the sooner you accept that, the better.”

“We’re coming up on NTB,” the drive called.

The convoy rolled to a stop at the temporary command post established by the SWAT teams. With a loud  _ clang _ , the ramps lowered onto the pavement and the troops filed out. As the squad leaders rallied their eams, Klec immediately went over to an officer who looked like he was in charge. 

“Lieutenant Klec, CMA QRF platoon leader. What have you got for me, Sergeant?”

“Sergeant Cibulka,” said the cop. He looked worn out and a bullet graze wound on his cheek. A trickle of blood seeped down to his jaw line. Wounded officers were being carried to waiting ambulances by fellow department members and EMT’s. He pointed at the holo-map lying on the hood of a squad car. “We’ve got a dozen plus casualties and both sections are their holding position. Hostages appear to have been moved in their entirety to the first floor, we’re concerned they might try to use them as human shields. They’ve got guns at the front doors, the second floor, and apparently some kind of command team on the third floor. Guards on the hostages, too. They made threats of executing them when the negotiator attempted to contact them.”

“Any plans for how to get in?”

“SWAT’s regrouping right now and we’re waiting on another team. Once the third team arrives, we’re planning a three-part simultaneous assault; one team will get into the building via roof access, another will go through the rear loading bay again, and we’ll move in through the front. It’s risky but we’re running out of options; the longer we wait, the chance they’ll start dropping hostages will be higher.”

Klec looked at Sladky and the squad leaders with him. After a moment, he turned back and shook his head. 

“No go, Sergeant. The CMA is assuming operational authority and I’m taking command. We’re going in,  _ now. _ ”

“What? Lieutenant, two of our assets aren’t even in place.”

“Just fall in behind my platoon. We’ll have our convoy roll out onto the street as mobile cover, suppress the front entrance with their heavy weapons, hit it with tear gas, and then clear the building floor by floor.” He turned around and faced his platoon. “Gas masks on, boys. Sladky, get the convoy to start moving slowly and to train their fire on that front entrance.”

Everyone doffed their helmets and began pulling their gas masks over their faces. Straps were adjusted and the edges were sealed. Fresh filters were screwed on, breathing tests conducted, and then they put their helmets back on. Sergeant Cibulka was still balking, sharing exasperated, confused glances with the other officers gathered around with him. 

“Lieutenant, please,” he begged, “that’s too much firepower. We might end up hitting the hostages.”

“They’re going to die if we wait much longer, Sergeant. We’re moving in.” Klec looked over his shoulders as the Warthogs and Bison APC’s began to trundle onto the street. “Either stay here or fall in!”

As the squad leaders shouted, they assembled on the left side of the APC’s. The moment they were in sight of the bank, HM8-38 machine guns and MA3A assault rifles opened on them. Bullets  _ pinged  _ off the armor plating,  _ snapped  _ as they hit the pavement, and  _ cracked  _ as they flew through the air. The gunners on both Warthogs shifted their turrets right and began firing long bursts at the doors. Glass shattered and the heavy caliber rounds began to break the metal framework. Chips and chunks of marble began to fall from the columns. Withdrawn from the columns, there were a pair of yellow flashes. Two rockets whizzed out from the bank. One landed behind the convoy, casting pieces of concrete from the pavement. But the other slammed into a squad car, throwing back several officers while the engine caught fire. Shrapnel soared through the air and the CMA troops quickly ducked down. 

Moving to the front of the APC, Klec leaned out and fired a few bursts from his MA5B. Then, the dual-mounted M247T machine guns on the Bison APC’s rotated towards the right and began raking the front of the bank with heavy automatic fire. Spent shell casing began to trickle down the hull and onto the pavement. Some of the CMA troops and police officers who were standing in the wrong spot caught the hot casings on their necks or down their shirts. They were forced to dig them out as quickly as possible.

There was no incoming fire Klec could detect. “Ceasefire! Ceasefire!” Klec ordered over the SQUADCOM. The entire QRF platoon and the vehicles stopped firing their weapons. “Get ready to move in! Stay with your squad leaders! Grenadiers, get some HE on the second floor then get CS on the first.”

“Lieutenant, the civilians in there don’t have gas masks and the terrorists do!” the police sergeant shouted from behind him. 

“Should we switch to smoke grenades, sir?” one of the grenadiers asked, hesitating to load his M319 Individual Grenade Launcher.

“Negative. Flash rounds.”

“But the hostages—”

“We need to move in  _ now _ , Sergeant!” Klec shouted, spinning around and grabbing the policeman by his vest. “The CMA has senior authority here! You will listen to my orders!” He let go of him and turned to his men. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

“Fire M319’s!”

“M319’s!”

“M319’s, out!”

At once, the grenadiers fired. Each grenade launcher’s report made a  _ thunk  _ sound. The first volley of shells went off along the second floor windows. Glass shattered and smoke shot out through the windows. Then, the grenadiers reloaded and fired the flashbangs at the first floor entrance. All the flash rounds went off just inside the building. A terrific series of explosions resounded within accompanied by bright white flashes. Dust rose billowed out from the impacts. 

“Move in!” Klec ordered and moved swiftly towards the bank. The squads moved up in staggered lines and kept their weapons trained on the building. Police officers were mingling among them, armed with shoguns, submachine guns, and sidearms. SWAT operatives dispersed among the CMA infantry, taking the lead with reinforced shields. Receiving no fire, the platoon did not return any. Just as they began to ascend the steps, Klec heard the tell-tale metallic clatter of grenade canisters on the ground. “Everybody down!”

As the platoon crouched, loud hissing noise began to fill the air. Thick white smoke began to billow out of the doors. 

“Smoke grenades!”

“Keep moving, keep moving!” Klec ordered. 

He knew their vision would be obscured but he wasn’t willing to give up the momentum the platoon was gaining. When the platoon approached the doors they saw figures staggering towards them. Along with some of the men in front, Klec raised his MA5 and squeezed off several bursts. The shadows began to cry out and fall. However, some didn’t and managed to break through the smoke. Instead of seeing armed Insurrectionists, he saw civilians clad in normal business attire. 

Klec began waving his hand at the sections of CMA troops on either side of him. “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”

Then, the Insurrectionists began firing at them from inside. In response, the entire platoon returned fire into the bank. More civilians fell. Klec tried to order them to stop but his voice was drowned out by the gunfire. Only a few civilians managed to escape the crossfire and run down the steps of the bank. As the enemy fire intensified, Klec swore and began shooting as well. He felt a pair of hands grabbing him from behind. Turning halfway, he elbowed the police sergeant away from him.

“What are you doing!? Innocent people are dying!” the Sergeant shouted. Klec shoved him away. 

“Get some frags in there!” Klec ordered. 

Without hesitation, two of his men pulled the pins on their M9’s and lobbed them through the doorways. 

“Fire in the hole!”

Both grenades went off at the same time. The blast only added to the haze of smoke making a wall in front of the platoon. Klec could hear the  _ clink  _ of shrapnel hitting the tile floor. People screamed. From inside the bank, and Insurrection tore off his gas mask and clutched his face. Blood leaked through his fingers as he staggered around. Raising his rifle, Klec took aim and cut him down with a three-round burst. 

“Keep moving, keep moving!”

Suddenly, there was gunfire from above and several officers and infantrymen fell. The rest took cover and fired back at the second floor. Under the overhang, Klec leaned against a column and shouted at his men. “Grenadiers, HE on the second floor.”

All the grenadiers fired again. The detonations rocked above their heads and reverberated through the columns. “CS!” After reloading, the grenadiers filled the second floor with tear gas. Klec ordered his men forward. SWAT members, police officers, and CMA infantrymen stormed the first floor of the bank. The tile floor was covered with broken glass and chunks of tile torn up from the floor. Spent brass cartridges were everywhere, the brass glinting in the white overhead lights. Smoke swirled around. Dead civilians and Insurrectionists were everywhere. 

Klec stepped over them, falling in behind First Squad. He looked up at the second floor walkways that lined the walls. Just as he suspected, several enemy gunmen appeared and leveled their weapons. “Contact, second floor!”

Luckily, his men were able to suppress the enemy position before they could properly bring the CMA platoon under fire. Klec led Sladky, Kocian, and the rest of Second Squad up the stairs to the second floor. The stairs were on the left side of the main teller counter and the one on the other side was blocked by furniture thrown down the steps by the Insurrectionists. Carefully, Klec came to the top step, crouched, and signaled for Sladky to look around the corner.

Trading places, Sladky took a breath and brought his weapon to bear. He fired several bursts, there were screams, and then the report of MA3A fire. Sladky fell back and began screaming. “Medic!” Klec yelled and pulled his platoon sergeant back. He had been shot in the face; most of his nose was gone, there was a hole through both cheeks, and his left eye was shot out. Blood seeped from all three wounds and when he opened his mouth to scream, Klec saw that one of the bullets shattered half his teeth. The platoon medic rushed up the stairs and with the aid of one of the other enlisted men, carried Sladky back down. Klec didn’t issue orders, he merely tore an M9 from his chest rig, yanked the pin, and lobbed it onto the second floor. After the explosion, he heard more screaming. Moments later, Sergeant Mraz and Third Squad managed to remove the furniture from the opposite staircase and were able to flank the enemy position. Splitting into two fireteams, one half of the squad advanced down the hall while the other continued to sweep the immediate enemy position. 

Klec saw some of the Insurrectionists were still alive. Writhing on the ground, they attempted to crawl away or treat some of their wounds with piecemeal first aid kits. Mraz and his fireteam kicked their weapons away. Sergeant Cibulka and some of the regular uniformed police officers came forward with their handcuffs. Before they could secure the terrorists, Mraz drew an M6E and proceeded to execute the three wounded men. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Cibulka shouted, holding his arms out to each side. “That was fucking  _ illegal _ , asshole!”

Mraz brushed by the police sergeant and headed towards Klec. The Lieutenant was standing by with Kocian, Slezak, Orvec, and their men. Following right behind was Cibulka, who didn’t so much walk as he did storm towards the CMA platoon leader. Pushing several of the troopers aside, he stood over Klec. “What kind of operation are you running here, Lieutenant!? We’ve got dead civilians on the first floor and now you’re wasting wounded suspects here. Is this how the CMA—”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Sergeant, this is my show!” Klec snarled. “Look down there, you’ll see dead and wounded CMA soldiers. Those are  _ my  _ soldiers. We’re going to take down every one of these fuckers. Now either huddle up or get the fuck out of here.”

He turned back and faced his squad leaders. “Kocian, Mraz, I want you with me up this hallway. Slezak, Orvec, take your men down the other one. We’re going to clear rooms as we advance to the stairwells, then push to the third floor. There are cops out front and back, so these Innie cowards are probably holing up for a last stand. Cibulka, keep your men here and make sure none get out. Think you can handle that?”

Cibulka didn’t dignify his domineering tone with a response. He just waved his hand dismissively then departed to collect his men. As they set a perimeter on the first and second floor, Klec and his men moved forward. The room-clearing segment of the mission proceeded surprisingly quickly and easily. Most of the offices, record rooms, and even the employee lounge were vacant. A few more rooms were checked except for those in the grisly battleground left by the SWAT teams. Walls and furniture were riddled with bullet holes, some of the seats in the waiting area were burned, debris littered the floor, and there were plenty of dead Insurrectionists. SWAT managed to remove their bodies but Klec told his men to keep a look out for any potential wounded. He hoped they wouldn’t find any; he didn’t want to waste any of his personnel by escorting them to the medics.

After carefully inspecting the staircases for traps, the two strike teams of the platoon proceeded to the third floor. By the time he was on the landing, Klec found himself in a better mood. He knew the dead civilians would cause a lot of headaches but he was not too concerned. Colonel Lexmann always prioritized the elimination of rebels and completion of the mission over collateral damage. The UNSC advisor would always raise hell but Lexmann deflected his criticism. More than once, charges were levied and a court martial was threatened but the Colonel always managed to kill these motions in their crib. Despite how hairy these operations were, Klec found himself rewarded with medals and commendations from his superior. Despite a few losses of his own and the civilians, he knew another Bronze Star was waiting for him after this one.

Moving forward with his MA5 raised, he progressed down the hall towards the main officer. “Keep it slow, boys. We’re almost finished here.”

Down the opposite end of the hall, he saw Slezak and Orvec approaching with their men. Both sections of the platoon stacked up on either side of the door leading to the head office. Klec positioned him behind Kocian’s squad. Hand signals were exchanged, indicating Kocian and Slezak’s squads would breach the room. Kocian held up three fingers, lowered them one by one, and made a fist. His pointman and one of the riflemen from the other squad kicked the doors in. 

Klec watched the troops stream through the doors. There was a brief burst of gunfire and a few cries. Rounding the corner, Klec remained by the door with his weapon raised halfway. None of his troops were killed or wounded, much to his relief. Many were beginning to remove their gas masks. Several Insurrectionists were dead on the ground. Puddles of blood began to form around them. 

“Someone’s in the chair,” Kocian said. 

“I got him,” Slezak said, shouldering his rifle. “Hey call it in, this is the manager.”

“Hornik,” Klec said.

“On it,” the RTO replied. “Waycastle, this is Two-Six Romeo. PID on final hostage...”

Klec lowered his weapon and removed his own mask. He felt very tired and instinctively leaned against the frame of the door. He rubbed the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead and then tilted his head back. When he looked back up, Slezak turned the swivel chair behind the desk around. The manager was gagged and tied to it. Tears were streaming down his face. Strapped to his chest was a large explosive chair. 

Slezak looked up, his eyes wide as saucers. “Bomb!”

“Everyone get out!” Klec screamed and dove into the hall. Behind him, there was a massive detonation and he was thrown to the floor. The explosion was so loud he could no longer hear. His ears ringing, he sluggishly picked himself up and turned around. Dust and smoke filled the hall. Other soldiers were scattered in the hall and were trying to get up. Out of the cloud, he saw some wounded men stagger out. One was missing an arm, another missing both, half of Hornik’s face was torn away, and Orvec came out walking despite a missing right foot. Many had burns and shrapnel wounds. 

Limping to the door, Klec felt the thick smoke fill his lungs and he coughed. Leaning against the door frame, he squinted into the room. Blackened, mangled bodies were everywhere. Only a few men appeared to be moving. Most of the opposite wall and window were breached and there was a jagged hole in the floor. The desk, chair, manager, and Sergeant Slezak were gone. 

  
  


Monika sprinted back up the stairs, skipping every other step. She didn’t so much as run onto the landing as she did leap. After nearly losing her footing, she drew her M6B and swept it back and forth. Smoke was wafting out of the hall to the main office. Ensuring it was clear, she dashed across and found the CMA troops in the hall. Well over a dozen were sitting in the hall with terrible wounds. Men moaned, cried, and yelled. Their wide-eyed medic was working hard to treat their wounds. A few of the able-bodied troopers were carrying dead bodies out of the room. 

Seeing an officer type speaking into a radio, she holstered her weapon and approached him. 

“...this is Two-Six, we have a mass casualty situation, break,” He lowered his head, coughed, and took a few breaths. Then, he raised the handset back up. “...requesting immediate MEDEVAC.”

“Hey, hey, tell me what you need.”

“Fucking everything,” the officer wheezed.

Monika hit the key on her radio. It was buzzing with multiple voices inquiring about the detonation.

“Officer  Pokorný requesting additional medical personnel to third floor, New Trnava Bank. Dozen plus casualties. Anybody with first aid training needs to get the fuck up here. Out.” She reached over and shook the officer by his shoulder. “Hey, I’m going to go back down and show the EMTs where to go. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Monika didn’t wait for him to respond. She began jogging back to the stairwell. When she came to the landing of the second floor, she raced back into the loading dock and went to the door. Just as she was able to pass the corner, a figure stepped out and hit her across the jaw with the butt of his MA3A. Recoiling, Monika hit the ground hard and in a daze. Struggling to look up, she watched four figures wearing tactical gear over civilian clothes dash down the alley. Just as she sat up and raised her M6B, they were out of sight.

As she began to stand, she felt someone pick her up from behind. Turning, she found Sergeant Cibulka right in her face.

“What happened? You good or —”

“Four foot mobiles. I got cold-cocked. Call it in and let’s go!”

Monika raced down the alley. Cibulka was right behind her informing other units what was happening. Ahead, she heard gunfire and recognized the reports of MA3’s and M6 sidearms. When she reached the street, she saw half a dozen wounded EMTs and officers on the ground. Other uninjured personnel began treating their wounds. A squad car on the periphery of the police cordon spun around and sped down the road. 

“They hijacked a black and white!” another officer shouted, pointing at the vehicle.

Monika looked around and saw an empty cruiser nearby. She and Cibulka jumped in; she buckled her seatbelt, turned the car on, slammed the door, and began the pursuit. Once she was through the cordon perimeter, she pressed her food down on the gas and the cruiser shot forward. With the traffic having been diverted, the streets were clear but she still had to weave around a stray pedestrian and car. 

“There, up ahead, right side,” Cibulka said, pointing with the flat of his hand. 

“Yep, got’em.”

The hijackers were driving madly down the road. Each time it seemed like they were going to take a turn down a right alley or intersection, they opted out at the last moment and drove back onto the main road. Then, they would veer towards the left side, approach a turn, and then divert to their initial route. 

As Cibulka reported their heading over the net, Monika planted her foot on the gas. They approached quickly and soon she was right on their tail. She half-expected one to lean out the window and start shooting at her vehicle. But they focused on the chase, weaving back and forth across the road. Every so often they attempted to throw her off by nearing a turn and then tearing onto the sidewalk. But they had given their pattern away and Monika dealt with plenty of vehicle pursuits before. 

Up ahead, she saw a pair of cruisers driving down the road. Their lights flashed brightly in the moist, morning mist. Just when they were about to box the vehicle in, they turned hard left and tore into an alley. Before the other squad cars could follow, Monika jerked the wheel and went into the alley herself. It was a tight squeeze and she nearly lose the rear-view mirrors. Still driving erratically, the Insurrectionists lost their mirrors and sparks flared out as the cruiser’s hull scrapped against the concrete walls. 

Seeing an open lot on the opposite street, Monika stepped on the gas again. “I’m gonna smash these fuckers. Get ready to jump out.”

“Do it!”

The Insurrectionists slowed just enough to attempt their turn when they exited the alley. It was the perfect opportunity. She rammed into their car so hard it nearly turned sideways. Using the momentum, she steered them into the vacant lot until the two vehicles finally stopped. Monika quickly reversed to give them some space and then opened her door. Briefly, she looked to the right to see Cibulka raising his sidearm. “Drop your weapon!” The Insurrectionists in the front seats were already out of the car. Both turned and opened the rear doors to let their other two comrades out. 

“Freeze! Put down your weapon and raise your hands above your head! Now!” 

The two closest to them raised their MA3A’s. Monika shot them both, emptying her M6B magazine into them. One flopped into the open backseat while the other crumpled onto the ground. She ducked behind her door, reloaded quickly, and jumped back after a few bullets whizzed over her head. The third gunner was turning his sights on her but she fired first. He grunted and fell over. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fourth Insurrectionist fleeing the scene. Briefly throwing a glance over his shoulder, he disappeared into an alley. 

Monika checked her weapon. “Call it in, I’m going after him.” She looked over at the other side of the vehicle. Cibulka was nowhere to be seen. “Sergeant?”

She raced around to the other side of the vehicle. Cibulka was lying on his back with his head near the rear tire. A single, large bullet wound was in the center of his forehead. Blood trickled out of it. Both his eyes were very wide and his mouth was slightly open. He was still clutching his M6B. Smoke drifted out of the barrel as the cold rainfall intensified. It seemed like she stood there for an hour staring at him. Eventually, she crouched and pressed two fingers to his neck. There was no pulse.

Her legs moved on her own. She went to the mouth of the alley and aimed her pistol down. The runner was gone. Behind her, she heard the sirens of the other squad cars approaching. When they came through the alley and pulled up on the road, she ran to the sidewalk. “One got away, he went down that alley onto Daxner Road. I got Cibulka.” She pointed down the alley. The officers acknowledged and drove to the next intersection. Their wailing sirens faded and the flashing red, white, and blue lights disappeared. Everything became eerily quiet. All Monika could hear was the loud patter of rain on the roof of the cruiser. Taking a breath, she slowly looked back at Cibulka. Her legs suddenly felt very heavy. Trudging back to the driver’s side, she reached in and grabbed the radio. “Officer down on Hattala Street,” she said, her voice quivering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Brave men are a city's strongest tower of defence," - Alcaeus of Mytilene, Greek poet


	5. Which He is Fitted By Nature to Bear

It rained all day long. Misty streets were filled with emergency vehicles and flashing lights. Yellow tape and uniformed officers stood between concerned, inquisitive crowds. White plastic sheets covered all the dead police officers, Insurrectionists, and Colonial Military Administration troops. When the joint police-CMA task force ran out of sheets, officers began taking off their jackets to cover the bodies. Personnel sifted through the debris on the streets, marking evidence within and around the bank with yellow, numbered placards. 

Having returned to the bank after other units took Sergeant Cibulka’s body away, Monika stood at the steps to the front entrance. Chunks and chips of marble littered the stairs, as well as empty magazines, brass cartridges, bits of flesh, viscous puddles of blood, shredded pieces of uniform, and dropped weaponry. On the street, officers and other responders picked through the wreckage of mangled squad cars. Some were in tears as they walked past the bodies of their friends and coworkers. Others seemed to hold up fine for a few minutes, but then walked to the curb, sat down, and began to sob. Sometimes they would go only only for a few moments but for others, another officer took their place. 

She felt blank. Never before, even after so manyInsurrectionist attacks, high-speed pursuits, shootouts with gangsters, and countless homicides, had Monika ever witnessed so much death. The sheer magnitude of the carnage was incomprehensible. None of her training, none of her experiences, prepared her for any of it. Unable to look at the sad sight any longer, she went back into the bank. It was clear of smoke, making the destruction all the more apparent. Stone-faced columns were hammered by bullets and the chunks littered the floor. All the furniture, from plush, black leather couches in the waiting area to the glass cases where patrons could fill out bank slips, were all shot to pieces. Bullet holes lined the walls and ran in jagged patterns across the floor. 

Detectives, police officers, and forensic experts were combing the bank. The bomb squad was still packing up after sweeping the building for any more explosives. A few were still clad in the large, bulk ordinance suits. Other team members were packing up the drone control units they brought with them. Monika began walking over to them to ask a question regarding what kind of bomb was used when a commotion alerted her. Towards the left, some men began shouting. With her hand on her holstred M6, she charged in the direction of the yelling. Pushing into the women’s bathroom, she found two officers who hadn’t been on scene during the gunfight aiming their pistols at a civilian woman.

“Get down on the ground!”  
“Hands behind your head!”

The civilian looked like a manager, wearing a gray pants-suit, a white undershirt, silver rings on the middle and ring fingers on both hands, golden hooped earrings, and thick, black-framed eyeglasses. Her platinum blonde hair was loose from the long ponytail she had been keeping it in. Mascare ran down her cheeks as she sobbed and held her hands up. Monika pushed between the two officers.

“Hey! Calm down! She’s unarmed!”

“She might be an Innie!”

“Do you see tac-gear, balaclavas, and automatic weapons?” Monika barked. “Get your guns down now.”

Both officers exchanged a hesitant glance. Eventually, the older of the two holstered his pistol. The other lowered his, but did not holster it. Monika turned and knelt in front of the civilian. She offered a kind smile. “Don’t worry about these blockheads, they’re good people, really. I know you’re scared. We’re going to help you, but I just need to check you over. Is that okay?”

The woman, who was only a few years older than Monika, nodded after a few moments. Her lips were quivering and her green eyes were wide with terror. Standing her up, Monika ensured she kept her hands up and then padded her down. Besides the woman’s wallet, which she promptly checked and found nothing indicating any leanings towards the Insurrection, she found no weapons. Gazing at her license, she found the woman’s name was Irena Votruba. She gave her back the wallet and then began leading her outside, one arm around her shoulders. 

Luckily, there were some EMT’s in the lobby and immediately came over. Irena was asked to sit, given a blanket, and a bottle of water. The EMT’s examined her quickly and found that she was uninjured, just in shock. They asked Monika to stay and talk with her. Crouching in front of her, she continued to wear a friendly smile. “Don’t worry now, Irena. Everything’s perfectly safe. You’re okay. Everybody is here to help you.”

Irena just nodded stoically. In her left hand, she held the bottle of water and the cap in her right. Both of her hands were shaking very hard. Monika gently took the bottle from her and carefully tipped it to her lips. Without looking, Irena just automatically tilted her head back and drank a few gulps. When Monika took the bottle away, a little water got on the manager’s chin. After screwing the cap on, the officer used her sleeve to wipe it away. 

Irena didn’t seem to notice any of it. Monika was used to seeing civilians in such a state after experiencing traumatic events. If she was having difficulty coming to terms with the destruction around her, it was always worse for a civilian. So she reached out, slid her hands into Irena’s, and squeezed them. “It’s safe now. Everything is going to be alright. Once you’re good and ready, I’ll talk you over to those detectives so they can ask you a couple questions. They won’t take up too much of your time so you can go home soon, if you’re feeling able to drive. That big guy, the bald one who has the mustache that looks like a bushy caterpillar, he’s really nice. I’ll make sure you talk to him. And that one—”

“I didn’t think it’d be like this,” Irena murmured. Monika looked back, furrowing her brow.

“What did you say?”

Irena finally looked up, her head turning sharply. She blinked and looked fearful again. Her lips began to move and a few startled, choked sounds came out. Eventually, she swallowed hard and shook her head. 

“I always had this feeling the Insurrectionists would come here,” she murmured. “In the back of my mind, it’s always been there. This oppressive weight, just _knowing_ something was going to happen. Day after day, waiting and waiting and waiting for it. I knew it’d be bad, but not like this.” She shook her head, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I just didn’t think it would be this bad when it finally happened. That’s what I mean.” Sniffing, she reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. Dabbing at her running mascara, she attempted to clean herself up. 

Irena seemed far calmer than now that she was occupied. Monika regarded her hesitantly for a few moments. Eventually, seeing that the survivor was struggling to clean her face up, Monika took the handkerchief and began wiping her cheeks. It took a few moments and she had to keep turning the white cloth over as it became darker. Just when she was about to finish, Monika heard someone coming up behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Captain Morawitz standing over her. He was an impressive looking man despite his age. Nearly fifty, he possessed a broad chest, bulky arms, and a square shaped face. His brown hair, streaked with gray, was cropped tightly as if he was in the military and he had a thick mustache. A few lines denoted his age in his firm face and there was a notched scar on his left, severe cheekbone. 

For a few moments, he didn’t speak to Monika. His expression was grave and his lips were set in a thin line. Turning back to Irena, Monika grasped her shoulders. 

“I have to go now, Irena. Can you see the detectives on your own or do you need help?”

“I’ll be okay,” Irena replied quietly. She looked up and offered a sad, tired smile. “Thank you for your help, Officer.”

Monika nodded, fixed her department baseball cap, and stood up. Captain Morawitz didn’t say a word and immediately began marching away. It was a trademark; he did not so much issue commands as he did make it known he wanted to be obeyed. When he needed someone to come to his office, he didn’t call them or send somebody. He would stop by their desk, give them a glare, and then begin walking towards his office. Everybody, even the most seasoned officers on the force, followed quickly and quietly. 

Catching up to him as he came to a brisk stop by the steps of the bank, Monika stood as straight as she could. Morawitz turned around and folded his arms across his chest. 

“Cibulka was a good man, a real credit to the uniform and the department.”

Monika’s gaze fell to her boots and she shifted uncomfortably. Her mouth opened slightly but she couldn’t speak without fear of shedding tears. Cibulka was by no means her friend but she respected him greatly. When she first came into the NTPD, he was a freshly promoted sergeant and he pushed her a lot. At first, she thought she was singled out and harassed. Instead, other officers made it clear that he was like that with everyone. He didn’t want them to be run-of-the-mill city cops; he wanted them to be hard workers, achievers of great things. After that, their relationship improved and Monika liked him better than all the other sergeants.

Eventually, she looked back up and nodded a few times. She chewed her lip to keep from crying. Morawitz betrayed no emotion other than his constant, taciturn expression. “He’s not easily replaced. Which is why I’m making you the new sergeant.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She began to shake her head but Morawitz grimaced. “I don’t care if you think you can’t do it. And I don’t care if you don’t want it. I’ve got multiple officers out of action and I need people to fill the gaps. You’re the plug for this one. It’s non-negotiable, Sergeant Pokorný.”

“Yes, Captain. I’ll do my best, I promise.”

“Secondly, your partner, Lake, is stable. But he’s going to be recovering for a long time. I thought you should know.”

Despite the shock of her promotion, Monika exhaled. She could have keeled over from relief. All at once, her concern for Lake’s life returned and was immediately soothed, causing a tumultuous storm of emotions to flood her chest. Again, she found herself fighting tears back. Taking a long breath, she ran her hand over her face and smiled a little. Again, Morawitz appeared unconcerned. “Thirdly, Governor Stoch is holding an emergency meeting with the city council. Afterwards, he wants to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Lexmann, the officer who led the CMA assault...Klap or Klep or whatever his name is, their UNSC attaché, and myself. I’d like you to be present for the meeting as well; you were the first officer on the scene and you coordinated a lot of the early efforts. We could all use your input. That meeting will be at seven o’clock tonight at Cyril and Methodius Hall.”

“Yes, sir,” Monika replied. 

“We’ve got plenty of people on scene right now. Get out of here, get yourself cleaned up, and make sure you’re at the C & M early. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Morawitz gave her the keys to the cruiser he came in. Without casting one backward glance at the bank, Monika walked into the rain, trundled the steps, and found the vehicle parked just outside the exclusion tape. When she slammed the door shut, she lost what energy she had left and slumped over the steering wheel. Breathing as if she had run a marathon, she felt like crying but no tears came. Eyes wide, breath ragged, she lifted herself back up and leaned her head back against the headrest. Just how close the day had been for her finally hit her. Sitting in the cruiser, she felt safe for the first time since she first stepped onto the street outside the bank. It was a mixed feeling of relief and terror knowing that she was lucky enough to escape the fighting with her life. 

Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was three-thirty in the afternoon. Taking out her COM-pad, she dialed her house phone and held it to her ear. It rang once, then twice, and a third time. Then there was a loud _click_ on the other end. 

“Hello?” said a young girl’s voice. Tears welled in Monika’s eyes.

“Hey Rosie, it’s mom.”

“Hi, mom!”

“How are you?”

“Okay. School was boring today. Subtraction is hard.”

Monika, holding her free hand by her mouth, briefly chewed on her knuckle. Swiftly, she dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Well, we’ll spend a little time working on that. You just need a little more practice, that’s all.”

“Are you going to be home soon?”

“Actually honey, no. I’m sorry.”

“Did something bad happen?”

Monika lowered the phone, closed her eyes, and held her forehead.

***

New Trnava was a major metropolis with an extensive suburban area in the south. Here, one found homes that could have been seen in any small town throughout the Colonies. Lawns were lush and green, although a few were poorly kept. Thick, full trees lined the sidewalks, providing shade over wooden benches and bus stops. Most houses were fenced in while more well-to-do homes had high walls and metal gates. Houses were varied, some consisting of only one floor and an attached garage, while others were two or three stories tall. Richer homes were more like compounds, with wider driveways and balconies. 

Even though it was raining, civilians were still out and about. Owners walked their dogs, who were very happy to splash in puddles accumulating on the sidewalk. Kids in yellow and orange raincoats stomped in the shallow rivers running towards the sewers. Couples under larger, clear umbrellas walked arm in arm. A few determined old souls with canes and flat caps trundled along. Some families were having small parties and some driveways were packed with the cars. People hastily rushed indoors carrying pots, pans, and freshly picked up groceries. Delivery vans pulled onto the curb and the drivers jogged up to front doors, planting packages out of the rain. Sometimes, the homeowner would pop out just as the driver was jogging back, and they would wave at each other. 

Monika drove slowly, weaving around the vans, reducing speed as she passed groups of children playing after school, and easing around cars not quite parked properly on the sides of the road. Life seemed normal, as if there was no carnage in downtown New Trnava. People here lived in a bubble that was not so easily pierced, it seemed. But the more she thought about it, that wasn’t true. They were not unaccustomed to seeing NTPD chasing suspected Insurrectionists down their roads and through the alleys between their homes. No, they were just used to the unrest and adapted to it. Whether or not there were cops and terrorists killing each other in the streets, life was going to continue for these folks. In a way, Monika couldn’t help but admire them. But she was too tired to truly give it anymore thought.

Eventually, she pulled onto a cul-de-sac and drove to the very end. Five houses formed a semicircle around the circle, one on the left, one on the right, and three in a semicircle opposite from the merged pavement. In the center was a grassy island with a very thick oak tree in the center and a bunch underneath it. A black lamp post was right beside the bench and the light shone brilliantly in the murky haze.

Pulling around to the right and pulling in front of the middle house, Monika released a long, labored breath. It was a cozy little place only two stories tall. It was a squat, squarish house with flat walls painted yellow to fit with the warm colored motif of the neighborhood. White trim ran around the door and windows. The shingled rooftop was a gray-green color. A breezeway with two white grooved columns connected the house to a garage. Instead of automatic garage doors like on almost every other home, this garage had two vertical doors with handles. Some might have found it a hassle to constantly open and then manually close and lock the doors behind them. But there was something very rustic and homely about it. The lawn was smaller but nonetheless lush and well-kept. Red rose bushes and butterfly bushes filled the gardens. More roses grew in the planters hanging from the windows on either side of the door. Next to the front door was a light with a blue bulb. 

Monika stared at it for a long time. She eventually drew another breath. 

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. Summon her courage, she got out of the car and began approaching the front door. Before she was halfway down the stone path leading from the paved driveway, the door opened. Bathed in warm light from within, Monika halted in her tracks. Standing in the doorway was Janice. She was a stout woman who was a little older than Monika. Her frizzy hair descended to her shoulders and she wore a red headband. In both earlobes were modest silver studs. Fond of button-down shirts, she wore a pastel green one and a pair of blue jeans. She was barefoot.

Jance blinked and then laughed. She had a full face and her smile was very wide, causing almost every feature to rise up. Putting a hand over her head, she waved at Monika. 

“I heard a car pull up and I thought it was that damned salesman again. Somebody ought to tell him it’s the 26th Century, nobody likes to be solicited at the door. Well, why are you just standing there? Get in here! You’re soaked.”

“Jancie,” Monika said. “I uh...have you seen the news?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been busy all day. I’ve got new art contracts and I have to get five paintings done by the end of the week. I’m almost done. Why?” Jance examined her carefully and then blinked. “Where’s Jakey?”

“Janice—” 

“Where is my husband?” she asked firmly. Her lips began to quiver. Monika, unsure of what to do, how to stand, or what to say, simply took off her cap and held it with both hands. There was no other way to say it.

“Jake’s in the hospital. I was told a little while ago that he’s stable, he’s going to live.”

Janice’s eyes became moist and tears silently streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t sob. Biting her bottom lip, she nodded slowly as if she was receiving just any kind of news.

“How did he get hurt?” she asked after a sniff and a sigh. Her voice was very thick.

“It was bad, Janice.”

“Tell me.”

“He was shot multiple times in the legs. His knees were shot out.”

Janice gasped and covered her mouth, not so much from the shock of the news as to keep herself from sobbing. After standing that way for a few moments, she lowered her hand and took a few shaky breaths. Looking down at the ground, she began to nod her head as tears ran down to her jaw line. One of the tails of her shirt was untucked and upon noticing this, she neatly tucked it into her jeans. Looking up, she nodded again and wiped her cheeks. 

“Well, get out of the rain and have something to eat.” Before Monika could speak, she raised her hand to silence her. “Come on.”

Monika’s gaze fell and she slowly followed Janice inside. When she shut the door behind her, she wiped her feet on the floor and then turned to her host. Janice took her coat and hat. “You could use a shower, too. Why don’t you wash upstairs and I’ll take care of your clothes if you have the time.”

“I have to be at the C & M before seven.”

“Plenty of time,” Janice breathed. “Plenty of time. Just leave your clothes outside the bathroom door.”

Before Monika even took off her boots, she heard stomping upstairs. Two children emerged at the top of the stairs which was across from the front door. One was a little boy no older than six and his sibling was a girl, a few inches taller, who was around eight. The boy had closely cropped hair while the girl’s hair was wild like her mother’s. Both of them beamed upon seeing her. 

“Auntie Monika!” they screamed and ran down the stairs. Monika was practically knocked over as they each hugged one of her legs. Laughing, she pried them off and knelt down. Again, they hugged her and she put an arm around them. 

“Sylvie, Donald. It’s _so_ great to see you,” she said earnestly. Monika loved these two little kids ever since she first met them. She felt better each time she got to see them and so did Rosie. Donald and Sylvie treated Rosie like a younger sister and the three were inseparable on days they spent together. Weeks sometimes went by where she didn’t get to see them and it felt like years. “You two are looking really good. You haven’t been giving your mom too much trouble, right?”

“Not _that_ much,” Sylvie said cheekily. Monika giggled and hugged them both again. 

“Alright, Auntie Monika’s gotta freshen up so give her some space,” Jancie said, forcing a smile. 

“Yeah, you stink!” Donald remarked.

“ _Donnie_.” 

The two kids scurried after their mother as she went into the kitchen. Monika took off her boots, went upstairs, and went into the bathroom. She took off her gun belt, body armor, and other equipment, tucking in an empty cubby under the vanity counter. Stripping off the clothes, she quickly stuffed everything into the hamper left right beside it. Before she closed it, Janice’s hands appeared with some of Monika’s clothes. Occasionally, Monika’s schedule became tight and Janice gave her a spare key to get in and out of the house. Monika always kept a spare change of clothes at the Lake residence. 

After the water warmed up, Monika spent a long time in the shower. She did her best not to ruminate as she used the shampoo and liquid soap from the shower bag she kept at the house too. Quickly, she scrubbed down, rinsed off, got out, and dried off. The less time she spent by herself, the better. Feeling somewhat revitalized, she put on the fresh clothes and went downstairs. Looking left, she saw Donald and Sylvie each chomping on a sandwich as they watched television on the couch. Stepping right towards the kitchen, she found Janice leaning over the sink with her hands over her face. She sobbed quietly into her hands and trembled. Paralyzed, Monika stood in the entryway to the kitchen and watched.

* * *

Lieutenant Klec stood beside Lieutenant Colonel Lexmann, who was seated in one of the ornate, polished wooden chairs in front of the governor’s desk. It was a large, gaudy thing of deep redwood and polished to the extent that it caught the overhead light. A closed terminal sat in the center with a lamp on the left side, a data pad dock on the right, and a plastic container for paper documents. Hung up on the synthetic wooden paneled wall behind the desk was a widescreen monitor. 

Looking left, Klec nervously stared at Major Belshaw. The UNSC Army attaché appeared even more imposing with his back turned to them. His arms remained folded across his chest as he stared out the window. Below was the courtyard in the center of the Cyril and Methodius Hall. It was a rectangular shaped building with a hollow center containing outdoor seating, gardens, paths, and even a small pond filled with fish. 

The main entrance to the room opened. Klec turned around, expecting to see Governor Stoch. Instead, she saw the large police Captain named Morawitz and the police officer he briefly encountered after the blast. Both glared at him threateningly and he quickly looked away. Nobody spoke to each other as they continued to wait. Eventually, a side door on the right side of the room opened and Governor Stoch appeared. He was a man of average build and height, although he had a somewhat portly stomach. He had a receding hairline but what hair remained was thick and richly dark. Although he was a well-kept man, he looked exasperated with a dark five o’clock shadow and deep bags under his eyes. 

Everybody gathered around the desk as he sat down. Stoch took off his suit jacket, draped it over the armrest of his leather-padded chair, and loosened his tie. Reviewing some documents he brought in with him, he slid them into the holder and folded his hands on the edge of the desk. 

“I just had to get out of a three hour long meeting _explaining_ to the city council why nearly fifteen police officers are dead, half of a CMA platoon, and a dozen civilians are currently in body bags and nearly fifty more people are in the hospital. Now, I would appreciate it if any one of you could explain to me why an Insurrectionist attack was able to take place this deep in the planetary capital.”

Klec looked at the others, who exchanged glances among themselves. Eventually, Lexmann stood up.

“Well, Mr. Stoch, I think what we have here—”

Stoch held up both hands briefly. 

“Actually, I changed my mind. I don’t want to hear one goddamn word out of your mouths. Because of you people, innocent civilians are dead. That’s on you, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, pointing at him. Then, he swept his finger towards Klec. “And you. Do you realize I have _multiple_ reports from _multiple_ officers and SWAT commandos on scene who reported your misconduct? Firing on civilians, refusal to cooperate with NTPD, collateral damage. You did just about everything you could to fuck this up, didn’t you Lieutenant Klec?”

“Governor, that’s uncalled for. You have no right—”

“No right!?” Stoch exclaimed, standing up and slamming his hand on the desk. “Under your orders this man killed the people he was there to rescue! You don’t get to tell me what is and isn’t my right. You have no authority to countermand me and I already have countless reports of your mismanagement of troops and their mistakes in the field! Now sit down and shut your mouth!”

Lexmann turned bright red, made a few stuffy sounds, and took his seat. Klec continued to clasp his hands in front of him and looked down at his feet. Stoch recovered, fixing his collar and taking a breath. He sat back down and folded his hands on the desk again. “Captain Morawitz?”

“This is Sergeant Pokorný, she was the first officer on the scene and was present for the entirety of the event.

“Yes, I saw the name mentioned several times in the report. You saved the lives of a few of your fellow officers. You have mine and the city council’s thanks, Sergeant. I have some gaps in a few of these reports and I’d like you to fill them in. What brought the CMA in to deal with this?”

“The SWAT commander, Lieutenant Bosko attempted to infiltrate the rear of the building. I didn’t go in with him. I was aiding some of the injured. They met heavy resistance and lost people. I went up, grabbed the survivors, brought them out. Bosko had taken on scene command and told me to use a security code to call on CMA.”

Pokorný turned her hat over and over in her hands. “Bosko is one of the best officers we have in NTPD. I’m a member of SWAT myself and I’ve worked with him a lot. He wouldn’t have asked me to call the CMA unless he really thought we needed the back up.” She shrugged and held out her arms. “I mean, we were dealing with hardcore Insurrectionists. These are the guys who are ex-CMA, ex-UNSC, they’ve spent five, six, seven, _ten_ years fighting. They had gear on par with our’s, they had heavy weapons, gas masks, radios, explosives, and they even blacked out the cameras. The fact they got in so quietly tells me they drilled for this.”

Finally clipping her hat to her belt, she folded her arms across her chest. Stoch took this information without comment. Eventually, he mulled enough and looked at Belshaw.

“Major, how long have you been with us on Víťazný Február?”

“A year and a half, Governor.”

“And what is your evaluation of the Colonial Military Administration troops in our garrison.”

Klec looked over at the Major. Belshaw offered a steel-like glare in response and then gazed menacingly at Lexmann. Eventually, he inhaled sharply and folded his hands behind his back. He stood up straight as if he was being inspected on a paragade ground.

“I’m a career UNSC Army soldier. Whenever we’re not deployed, we are _constantly_ training. You’ll find UNSC fighting men and women to be some of the most disciplined, hardworking, and professional personnel in the Colonies. I’m continually reminded the CMA does not field such troops.” Klec saw Lexmann bristle. Belshaw noticed but didn’t acknowledge it. “Limited training, poor discipline, and a disregard for military law. Lieutenant Colonel Lexmann and Second Lieutenant Klec are examples of officers I’ve worked with before; they don’t listen, disregard advice, and accept the flaws and corrosion in their units so long as they get results. Their standards are subpar at best.”

Stoch nodded as he received the news. But then Major Belshaw sighed. “But I cannot stress enough that today’s events are also the result of a lack of intelligence on the part of the UNSC.”

“You have a close working relationship with the ONI Sec-One commander present, do you not?”

“Correct. But the Office of Naval Intelligence is a different breed altogether and they don’t march to the same tune as the Army. This is an intelligence failure, sir, and the shootout-bombing at the bank is an indicator to me that Insurrectionist operations are only going to increase in their tempo on Víťazný Február. I think it’s time to ultimately reevaluate our military and intelligence presence on the planet.”

Lexmann scoffed and shook his head. 

“And we know what you would recommend,” he muttered.

“Stay quiet,” Stoch ordered and leaned forward. He pressed his palms together and leaned against them, as if he was praying. The air in the room grew tense as they waited for the Governor to make his decision. Eventually, he stood up, walked over to the window, clutched the sill, and leaned forward. His head bowed and he sighed like a defeated man. “I’m tired of waking up every single day wondering if the Insurrectionists are going to attack, if the citizens of this planet are assailed and harassed and harmed not only by the enemy but the troops here to defend them. I wanted to keep the war far away but I suppose that’s been nothing more than a fantasy.”

Governor Stoch turned around and folded his hands behind his back. He appeared very dignified even in the low light of his officer and the fatigue clawing at his facial features. “Major Belshaw is correct. Tomorrow, I’m going to request the removal of the CMA garrison and for the UNSC to supplant it. A personal recommendation for counter-insurgency operations will go with it. Whatever the UNSC has to do to keep these people safe, then they had better do it.”

Stoch turned his attention towards Lexmann and Klec. “Major Belshaw, I shall require your assistance in drafting a letter. I would ask the UNSC Army to investigate the conduct of Lieutenant Colonel Lexmann and Second Lieutenant Klec and see to it they are court martialed.”

Belshaw turned, locked eyes with Klec, and smiled menacingly. 

“Gladly.”

***

Klec’s elbow sat on the sill of the passenger door window. Rain streamed down the glass as he stared out at the suburbs. Porch lights took on a scattered, eerie glow through the raindrops. Even with the orange glow of the street lamps, the roads were dark. 

“You did everything you could, Lieutenant,” Lexmann said as he slowly drove his personal car down the road. He turned on his indicator and wheeled right at an intersection. “Stoch is an idiot. He doesn’t understand war.”

“Yeah,” was all Klec could manage.

“Nothing much will come from it. If anything, a court martial will clear your name.”

Images flashing through the junior officer’s mind. He saw the thick, white smoke, the shadows within the cloud, and the muzzle flash of his rifle. Looking down, he saw his khaki boots stepping through blood leaking from civilian corpses. 

“Yeah,” he repeated. Lexmann stopped the car in front of a small house. It had a wide lawn, a well-built garage, and a tall pine tree in the corner of the yard closest to the road. A white picket fence lined the sidewalk and paved path led from the driveway to the front door. Warm, inviting yellow light poured from the two windows to the right of the door.

Klec took off his seatbelt and faced Lexmann. The Lieutenant Colonel looked at him gravely. “Thanks for the lift, sir.”

“Sure. Consider yourself on leave for the next two weeks. Lieutenant Hudak will command your platoon in your absence. Take some time and we’ll talk soon.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir. Goodnight.”

Klec got out and walked to his front door with the sound of Lexmann’s car whisking away in his ears. He tugged the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped in. From the living room came a gasp. Just as he closed the door, he came face to face with his wife, Hana. She was wearing a pale blue robe and white slippers. Her brown hair was loose and swept across her shoulders. In her hands, she held a baseball bat. Upon seeing him, she lowered it and sighed. 

“Oh Roman, thank goodness!” she said, setting the bat down. Klec chuckled a little. 

“Sorry, I should have called ahead.”

“I know! I wasn’t expecting you back this early. Oh my god, your uniform is filthy. What happened to you?” His young wife then covered her mouth with both hands. “You weren’t at the bank today, were you? I saw it on the news. You were, weren’t you?”

Klec just nodded. Gasping, she rushed over and hugged him very tightly. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he replied, speaking into the soft collar of her robe as he held her. He felt the urge to cry but was able to resist it. When they parted, they kissed deeply and Hana blinked away her tears. 

“They’re saying awful things on the news about the CMA.” 

Klec shrugged a little as she stroked his cheek.

“I made some mistakes today, Hana. Very bad ones. I think, for too long, I let all of this get to my head. That I was more important than I am. Because of that, I think some very fine people lost their lives.”

“Oh, Roman...”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “you married such a man.”

“Enough, hush. Please, get out of that uniform and sit with me for a while.” No sooner had Klec removed his fatigue jacket that he heard crying from upstairs. Hana sighed and smiled softly. “I just got him to bed. I’ll be right back.”

“No, I’ll go. I’d like to see my son.”

Before he even put his foot on the stairs, there was a knock on the door. Hana jumped and held her hand over her heart for a moment. Klec went to the window and looked out. He couldn’t see who was standing at the door but there was a car parked on the road. He couldn’t quite make it out but it had the same shape as Lexmann’s. “It’s the Lieutenant Colonel. I probably left something in his car. Go upstairs, I’ll be right up.”

Hana nodded and hurried up the steps. Klec took a moment to listen to her speak to their baby in Slovakian. A moment later, she began to sing to the babe. Already, he pictured her pacing the halls and singing like she did on so many nights. He hoped this would go quickly so he could join her. Unlocking the door, he threw it open. His smile fell. Standing on the front porch was an individual dressed in olive drab trousers, black boots, a dark blue jacket under a black vest, and a balaclava with a single slit for the eyes. In their hands, they held an M45E shotgun; the iron sights glowed blue in the night. 

They leveled the shotgun at waist level and fired. Klec was struck in the stomach and chest and was thrown backwards. Coughing and spluttering, he felt blood come out of his mouth. Looking down, he saw his shredded clothes, the spreading blood stains, and smoke rising from his singed flesh. Above him, he heard Hana screaming. For a moment, the shooter remained on the step and stared at him. Then, they lowered the shotgun, turned, and disappeared into the dark, rainy night. Klec watched them go as his vision faded and his wife’s voice drifted from his ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing happens to anybody which he is not fitted by nature to bear," - Marcus Aurelius


	6. A Quieter or More Untroubled Retreat

In orbit around New Carthage were a number of extensive defense platforms and anchorages. Although there were many commercial ships descending into the planet’s orbit, pausing to be searched at one of the platforms, or exiting from the system via slipspace jump, there was a particularly dense cluster around the platform _Maharbal_ . The UNSC Navy’s Carrier Strike Group 37 consisted of several vessels; one _Paris_ -class heavy frigates, _Fourth of July_ ; two _Charon_ -class light frigates, _Satsuma_ and _Sidewinder_ ; one _Halberd_ -class destroyer, _Don’t Call Me_ ; the _Halcyon_ -class light cruiser _Lord Hill_ , the _Orion_ -class assault carrier _Gates of the Colonies_ . An enormous ship, it dwarfed the rest of the CSG. It had a mammoth bow with extended plats both starboard and port, providing cover to the maws of its two Magnetic Accelerator Cannons. Amidships, its sleek, angular armor bulged ever so slightly and then led to a minimal stern made up mostly of its immense engines. Just before the engines was its only superstructure, appearing as a short but stocky tower. Below, the ship was bulbous and riven with countless lights. Even _Maharbal_ , a massive space station with its own MAC gun, docking bays, and point defense blocks, was lost in the carrier’s shadow. 

Like so many circling birds, Pelicans, Albatrosses, and other orbital craft fluttered around the station. Some ferried personnel from the ships, while others conveyed fresh crew members to the vessels. Others departed to one of the many metropolises studding New Carthage’s surface. 

Within the _Maharbal_ , most of its facilities were devoid of life. Skeleton crews operated the most essential facilities, such as the loading docks, hanars, gun stations, or tram waystations conveying supplies, ammunition, or personnel. Most were hurrying to the command deck, where a ceremony was taking place. It was a large, spacious area with wide viewing glass so occupants could gaze out at the stars. Rows of terminal stations lined ascending tiers, occupied by Navy officers in gray uniforms or enlisted persons wearing varied colored jumpsuits. Marines sentries stood on either side of the entrances. 

Below a massive tactical screen showing a general display of data metrics regarding ships and platforms in the system, a retinue of officers in dress whites stood in line. At each end was the Navy standard as well as the UNSC Armed Forces flag. In front of them was a polished oak podium, brought out for the occasion. All around, more Navy officers and high-ranking enlisted men stood in formation in their uniforms. Across from them were Marines, clad in olive drab M52B body armor that was polished so well they shone in the white overhead lights. The two bodies of men and women, hailing from the _Gates of the Colonies_ , created an aisle leading to the raised platform where the stately officers stood. 

A tall, slender man, with salt-and-pepper colored hair underneath his white officer’s cap, came to the podium. Square-jawed and kind-eyed, he was Vice Admiral James Davin, and he offered a smile to the gathered personnel. 

“It is my immense honor to be the first to welcome you all back to the Inner Colonies. You, the men and women of Carrier Strike Group 37 have distinguished yourselves valorously and selflessly these past thirteen months. No other CSG engaged the enemy as often, bravely, and victoriously as you, and it is thanks to your efforts three Outer Colony systems are now pacified. You are all a credit to the United Nations Space Command Armed Forces.”

He glanced down at his data pad, resting on top of the podium. “Front and center, Rear Admiral Ngata.”

From the Navy side, a stout man with a broad chest stepped out robotically, marched down the aisle, and then stood at attention beside Vice Admiral Davin. Salutes were exchanged before the former officer faced the gathered personnel, his hands behind his back. “For serving with honor and distinction in a position of great importance to the UNSC Navy, UNSC High Command, the UNSC Security Council, and the United Earth Government, you are hereby awarded the Distinguished Service Medal.”

Behind Davin, a white-uniformed officer approached with a polished birch chest. When he opened it, the interior was coated with red velvet. A plush cushion was in the bottom half. On top was a circular, golden medallion with the UNSC eagle in the center. Around it was a rim of blue with the words UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND NAVY printed in gold. It was suspended from a deep blue ribbon with a single, yellow, vertical bar in the center. Gently, Davin picked it up and pinned it to Rear Admiral Ngata.”

The two saluted, smiled, shook hands, and turned to face the small team of civilian news reporters. Camera drones flashed as they snapped the pictures. When their hands released, Davin returned to the podium. “Rear Admiral Ngata has asked me for permission to continue this ceremony, as he wished to honor you for your services personally.”

The two traded positions, Davin remaining nearby as if to give his approval to the new speaker. Ngata, round-faced and gigantic, gripped both edges of the stand. He gazed at the gathering with an intense but loving gaze, their faces all familiar to him. Eventually, his chiseled face wrinkled as he smiled. 

“We fought long and hard together. It was our dedication to one another that saw us through so many engagements. We came together as a team and forged a path into the great unknown of war and came out the other side together. For some of you, your service is complete. For others, this is just the beginning.” 

He paused impressively, letting the gathered Marines and Navy personnel absorb his words. Many gazed at him with stars in their eyes, awed by the commanding officer they had served under for so long. “Before the entire unit is decorated, I would personally like to bring up one individual known to all of us. A man who we could all trust and rely upon to do his job and then some. Somebody who did not merely stand on the command deck but picked up his rifle when he didn’t have to—multiple times. I suppose that is because he came up as an infantryman so his boots, and heart, belong on the ground and in the middle of the battle.”

Ngata’s smile widened. “The United Earth Government, the UNSC Security Council, and the UNSC Navy has the great pleasure to award the Silver Star to UNSC Army Liaison Officer Captain Augustus Malcolm Park for extraordinary, selfless, and heroic actions For his actions on October 17, 2522 during the Battle of Anchor XV. During a raid in which Insurrectionist forces boarded the orbital refitting and repair station, Anchor XV, Captain Park boarded a Pelican and deployed onto the station after hearing of Navy personnel being trapped inside their duty station. With a platoon of Marines and Navy seamen, he led a counterattack which decimated the enemy’s landings assault party and rescued the trapped personnel. 

“Captain Park exposed himself to enemy fire to provide tactical input and set an example to the men and women around him. Even as bullets were ricocheting off the bulkheads, he risked his life to rescue two wounded Marines and clear the breach. Despite his post, he chose to serve alongside his fellow service members. Captain Park’s valorous, selfless acts are keeping within firm, cherished traditions of the entire UNSC Armed Forces, reflecting great credit upon himself, Carrier Strike Group 37, and our sister service the UNSC Army.”

From the Navy side, a man in OCP-camouflage fatigues. He was tall and athletic, with a freshly trimmed head of grayish hair and a pale, clean-shaven face. His brown eyes were deep and dark, but always vibrant. When he walked, his pace was brisk and commanding, yet entirely relaxed in the setting. Ascending the stage, he approached Rear Admiral Ngata and saluted. Again, the chest-bearer came and Ngata took out the Silver Star. In the center of a gold, five-pointed star was a small, silver one. Its ribbon possessed a thin, red vertical bar in the center, bordered by two thick white ones, followed immediately by two moderate blue columns, then a white thin line, and a slightly bigger blue column. 

They saluted again, shook hands, and looked at the cameras. Ngata smiled wide, showing his bright white teeth. Park did not smile, but his eyes maintained a light expression. The Army Captain stepped back and allowed Ngata to continue. “For his conduct throughout the thirteen-month deployment and for meritorious service beyond what was required of him in a joint capacity, the Navy also awards Captain Park with the Joint Achievement Medal as an end-of-tour award. And for being deployed cultimatively for twenty-four months in space, on behalf of the Army he is awarded the Space Duty Ribbon...”

The awards ceremony lasted for just over two hours. After the individual decorations of countless Marines and seamen, both enlisted and commissioned. The penultimate moment came when all the present members of CSG 37 received the Navy Unit Commendation. It was the second time received the decoration, having previously served with CSG 91 in 2521 whose daring actions resulted in the same award. He was proud to receive it. 

When the ceremony concluded, the UNSC’s anthem played, and they all saluted the flag. Afterwards, they were escorted to the station’s mess hall where the staff prepared a massive feast for their return. Tables covered in white sheets were filled with sizzling roasts, bowls of freshly steamed vegetables, tiers of succulent, colorful fruits, bread, butter, countless condiments, and a number of different colored cakes as dessert. Some dug in right away but a number gathered around to chat as they had for the past year. A few, like Park, only had a few minutes to spare; like him, they were New Carthage residents and their families were waiting to pick them up at the surface stations. 

Park shook a number of hands, ensuring to provide a few final, meaningful words to the Marines and sailors who he had a good working relationship with. A small number grew a bit misty as they said goodbye. His eyes remained dry. Eventually, just as he was about to duck out to collect his belongings, he heard the familiar steps of Rear Admiral Ngata approaching. 

“Sir,” he said as he turned around. Ngata clamped a heavy hand on the Captain’s shoulder. 

“Happy to be going on leave, son?”

“Yes, sir.” Park’s reward for completing a thirteen month deployment was sixty days of leave, having accumulated them over the course of the year. 

“Good. You;ve earned it.” Ngata put an arm around him and began guiding him out of the mess hall. “I already sent someone to collect your gear. It’s stowed on a Pelican waiting in the hangar. It’s just for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They walked outside the large rectangular entrance to the mess hall. Ngata dropped his arm and waited for a few sailors to pass by. His face grew serious. 

“I just wanted to pull you aside to say thank you, personally, without the flags and the medals and cameras. You were a real asset during the entire deployment and I really appreciate that.” He offered a knowing grin that Park found slightly off-putting. 

Over the course of the year, Park found Ngata to be an above-average Navy officer but there was something about him he found unsettling. It was not just his superior rank. He always seemed to know what was happening with every single individual on his ship despite how seemingly detached he was from the day-to-day going-ons. If he wasn’t on the bridge, he was a very rare sight. But then he would suddenly appear at the Marine barracks or in the engine room, or the office space allocated to Park. While the Army captain trusted him, he found himself intimidated by Ngata from time to time, which was a rare feeling to have towards another service member. 

Ngata chuckled a little, as if he found whatever words he was mulling over comedic. Eventually, he nodded his head to the side. “Take a little advice from me, though. Laugh a little once in a while, will you? Not everyone needs to be frozen by your gaze.”

He laughed and clapped Park on the shoulder. “Now get out of here before some petty officers challenge you to a wrestling match or a Pelican race or some other fool thing.” Ngata strolled through the door, waving his hand one last time before disappearing into the crowd of ensigns and petty officers. Standing just outside of the entrance, Park regarded him curiously even when he was out of sight. After a few moments, his frank, indifferent expression returned. Spinning around his heel, he marched towards the nearest tram. 

***

It was a gloomy, overcast day on New Carthage. When he hopped off the rear of the Pelican, he was greeted by a cool, wet breeze. To an outsider, it would have been a considerably inhospitable greeting to a new planet. But for a local like him, it was a wonderful welcome home. The climate agreed with him. 

Throwing his large, man-sized travel bag over his shoulder, he looped around to the bow of the dropship. Catching the pilot’s and copilot’s attention, he saluted smartly. Both returned the gesture mechanically. Securing his soft-cover cap, Park began trooping across the gray concrete of the airfield tarmac towards the adjacent terminal. The base, Camp Hasdrubal, was an expansive joint facility taking up twenty square miles. Its garrison was made up mostly of Army and Air Force personnel, but there were a number of Navy medical and engineer detachments as well. High walls characterized with bunks, towers, and ramparts lined the enter perimeter. Double and even triple-stacked hesco bastions denoted interior perimeters, cordoning off supply depots, motor pools, barracks, hospitals, mess halls, and the TOC. Two airfields supported by multiple supply and air pads took up the majority of space within the massive compound. GA-TL1’s, B-65’s, AV-19’s, UH-144 variants, Albatross and Pelicans, and even a few mighty AC-220 Vulture gunships sat in front of the hangars. 

Maintenance crews were working hard on various aircraft, their power tools sparking. Air Force pilots clad light green jumpsuits and gray vests carried their helmets under their arms. Some were returning from an exercise and were heading to the chow halls. Others were heading towards their aircraft, smiling, joking, and already wearing their helmets. Army Aviation crews tended to their Falcons and a few took off for a mission across the nearby vegtative hinterland. 

As Park walked, he was both gladdened and unsettled by standing on solid ground. After nearly two years of continuously serving on board Navy ships, his body was used to artificial gravity. Those on board unaccustomed to it found they still needed to walk a certain way, needing to pace their strides and occasionally over exaggerate their balance. It was unnecessary on a planet’s surface and he found his steps to be too long. 

He reached the terminal, where he went through processing. It was a matter of logging himself into the information network, registering his leave, and updating some aspects of his CSV. Having gone through it multiple times throughout his career, he was able to breeze through it without a hassle. Practically second nature, he barely paid attention and let his body’s muscle memory do the work. 

When he finally reached the other side, passing through a large gate guarded by multiple Army and Air Force personnel, he entered a long tunnel-like hall. On the right were a series of large glass windows, allowing the murky sunlight to flood in. To the left were multiple waiting areas composed of back-to-back bench seating. Many different branches were represented by the men and women sitting and milling around. Most wore the Army OCP-camouflage pattern uniform, mirroring Park’s. But there were some civilians among them as well; some were employees of the Army but the majority were family members saying goodbye to their loved ones. There were quiet tears, pink cheeks, and clinging hugs. Others were greeting returning service members; there were many delighted shrieks among children and tearful laughing from spouses. Families locked arms and buried themselves into one another as if they couldn’t let go. Park passed, refraining to look out of respect. 

Out of the trickle of civilians coming into the hall, one emerged that instantly brought a smile to his face. A scrawny man a few years his junior, with styled, black hair that was swept to the left, a little scruff on his chin, and an athletic build approached. Like Park, he had deep brown eyes but his cheekbones and jaw were less severe. Unlike him, he had rich tan skin. He had a handsomely shaped mouth just like the male models in stores for elegant men’s wear. A golden watch was on his left wrist and he dressed casually in a black designer jacket and blue jeans. 

Park’s younger brother, Seong, rushed towards him. Park dropped his bag, held out his arms, and let Seong crash into him. Both smacked each other on the back a few times before tightening their embrace. A few moments later, Park heard Seong sniffing into his shoulder. It was the first time in a while that the Army Captain felt emotional. He felt his own heart flutter and he felt a great sense of being home now that he was with his brother. Letting go was an impossibility and he indulged in this wonderful moment that seemed so distant just a few days earlier while he waited for the ceremony on _Maharbal_. The moment was as surreal as it was lovely; it was like dreaming when one was not sleeping but not quite awake either. 

When they finally parted, Seong’s eyes were already puffy with tears and he hastily wiped them on his sleeve.

“Hey Malcom,” he breathed.

“Hey, Seong.”

“It’s great to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“How the hell are you, man!?” Seong cried, hugging Park again. He recoiled briefly, seeing the disturbed medals still pinned to his fatigue jacket. “Oh, dude, I’m sorry!” That made Park chuckle a little. 

“Forget about that. I’m doing really well,” Park said soothingly, patting him on the back. Again, they parted and regarded each other warmly, smiling, taking the other in, silently admiring how the other had changed in the intervening months. “Mom has you doing all the grunt work again?”

“Not this time, I played a trick on them. I’ll tell you in the car, c’mon!”

Seong eagerly lifted Park’s bag and carried it for him. Even when he wasn’t excited, he moved two times faster than anybody the Captain knew. He talked quickly, walked fast, and thought hastily. And when he was delighted, he moved at a pace even Park could hardly keep up with. He was practically jogging to keep up with his brother’s strides. 

They passed through the exit, weaved through the civilian parking lot, and got into Seong’s maroon Genet. The bag was tossed into the back seat, they put on their seatbelts, and they began driving for home. “I told everybody you messaged me on ChatterNet that your processing had a hiccup and it’d be another two weeks before you’d get to come home.”

“That’s messed up, man.”

“Oh yeah, dude, Mom was all upset and Matilde pretended she wasn’t but she was. Ji-Yu got a little mad. I think she sees right through me though.” At a red light, Seong glanced over and flashed a bright, white smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll only be mad at me. And they’ll be so happy to see you, they’ll just forget about it. Mom and Matilde got you a cake for your birthday.”

“Chocolate?”

“No, vanilla, _yes of course_ chocolate are you crazy?” 

That made Park chuckle a little bit. 

“Is Hannah in on it?”

“No. I sent her a message and she didn’t respond. Guess she took it a little hard.” He winced and shrugged. “Sorry, bro.”

“No worries, I’ll surprise her in her office, she likes to work late.” For a few minutes, the two brothers settled into comfortable silence. Light rain pattered on the roof and the red tail lights of cars streaked slowly by them on the highway. Around them, the gray and white urban landscape of Pilvros, his home city, loomed over them. The familiar sights made him feel at ease. “So are you doing alright? Pick a school yet?”

Seong had already finished his undergraduate studies in Theatre Studies and planned to further it with a master’s degree. At least, that’s what he said in his last message.

“I dunno, dude, been pretty good I guess. I can’t decide if I want to attend another school here or go to Earth and study. I think Mom and Matilde want me to stick around but I don’t want to be cooped up here forever.” Seong stopped talking and focused on the merging lane. They went down an off-ramp and entered the inner-city. At the next stoplight, he looked over again. “What was the UK like when you were stationed on Earth?”

“I didn’t take in too much of the sights. During the day I was working up in battalion staff and at night I was studying for my masters. But for the most part, Oxford was a pretty nice place. Lot of history.”

Seong didn’t say anything. Park shrugged as he reclined in the passenger seat. He took off his cap and scratched his head of silver locks. “Well, you don’t have to pick right away. It doesn’t hurt to take some time off.”

“Oof, dude, don’t let Mom hear you say that. She’ll be _pissed_. She still hasn’t forgiven you for cutting your leave short last time.”

Park chose not to respond to that. Seong’s expression grew a little serious and he cleared his throat. The elder brother knew it was a signal he was about to talk about something heavy. For a moment, he felt a pang of panic, expecting some horrible news regarding one of their family members or some other person they knew well.

“Mom and Matilde watch the news a lot,” he said. “The UNSC keeps saying the Insurrection is dying down but every time there’s a battle or operation in the Outer Colonies, it seems really bad. Was it, you know, _bad_ this time?”

“You and I have different perceptions of bad,” Park replied immediately. “It always looks worse on the news.” He paused for a few moments. “But yeah, it wasn’t pleasant. There were some times I wish I was still in the infantry. At least there I could actually defend myself. Standing on the bridge of a ship, unable to do anything, being a _passenger_ in a battle, that’s not something I like.”

“Shit, that’s scary.”

Park could tell by Seong’s nervous glance that he found the idea of his older brother being at war still frightening. It was something they never discussed except in the barest, bluntest, most distant terms. The topic was not easily discussed in general so Park did his best not to indulge in conversations regarding combat too much.

Seong glanced at him again. “Another Silver Star? What did you get it for this time?”

“For being unbelievably handsome. I’m _Army Letter’s_ Most Handsome Man of the Year, did you see?”

“Yeah, okay buddy,” Seong said, shaking his head and offering a breath of relief laugher. 

For the remainder of the drive, they chatted in an unfocused, drifting fashion. Park described the decent food situation on Navy ships, some of the more exotic locations he traveled to, and what it was like working with the Navy and the Marines. Seong described some of the recent characters he played on stage with his local theatre troupe; Macbeth, Biff Loman, and Oedipus. He had a few auditions for minor roles in film but so far only managed to find a couple bit parts and mainly did work as extra. But he was happy for the experiences and was dutifully tacking them onto his resume. Both discussed some of the books they recently read; Park just finished _War and Peace_ , while Seong read the first volume of _Romance of the Three Kingdoms_. 

Seong drove them through downtown and eventually entered the suburbs. Soon, they breezed through neighborhoods spread among lush, rolling hills on the other side of the river weaving around Pilvros. There were many homes with privacy walls of marble or red bricks. Many had gates protecting the driveway. No two of the well-to-do dwellings were the same. Some looked like traditional cottages from rural terran communities, while others possessed the sleek, angular, glass-focused architecture of more modern, urban settings. Among them were a small number of large mansions, with winding paths woven into lush lawns and verdant gardens. These too were walled. 

Eventually, they arrived at one home that stood three stories tall. Its walls were made up of smooth, tan stucco, with a dark gray rooftop. Two massive palladium windows were on either side of the red front door. On the second floor, a glass-encased footbridge of about twenty feet led to another boxy, stucco section of the house, which reminded Park of a bastion within a fortress. On the front and right side were wide balconies with small tables and chairs on them. Each one was separately covered by its own, small roof. Black metal bars, elegant but strong, made up the railing. Above them were big square windows. Beneath the second floor was the wide door to the garage. Under the glass walkway was a patio that also functioned as a breezeway. Stucco columns stood on red brick and mortar. There were more chairs, tables, and even a few wicker couches. The front law was lush and trim; rich brown mulch coated the garden that wrapped around the entire perimeter, stopping only at the gravel driveway. Purple, pink, and blue hydrangea grew throughout the garden, accompanied by sunflowers. 

Just as Seong slowed down by the gate, he hit a button on the console. With a loud _beep_ , the gates swung open. He tapped another button which opened the garage door. Carefully, he parked the Genet next to three other expensive Genets. He sighed happily and slapped his knee. “Ready, man?”

“Squared away,” Park replied. 

“C’mon, let’s go up through the garage and cross the bridge,” he said. “We’ll surprise them really good.”

Park got his travel bag from the backseat and followed his brother up the stairs. The garage was cold but once they passed onto the second floor, they were greeted by the neutral air of the house. Immediately, he was confronted by the smells he was accustomed to for the better part of his life; fragrant, freshly picked sunflowers added to vases standing on either side of the walkway, the subtle scent of generic cleaner used by the maid to mop the floor of the footbridge, the cold cement smell of the garage vaguely wafting up from the door behind him. Such inconsequential scents that faded into the background of one’s daily perceptions yet having been absent from them for so long, they brought back memories. All he could do was breathe it all in and exhale comfortably. 

Seong noticed and smiled warmly. Wordlessly, he waved for Park to follow him. They only took a few steps before the elder brother tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, sorry I forgot to ask about Adam. How are things going with you two?”

Seong hesitated, his back turned to Park. For a few moments, he grew concerned. But when his younger brother turned around, his eyes were glittering and he was smiling happily.

“I kind of wanted it to be a surprise,” he said shyly, “but seeing as you _asked_...I asked Adam to marry me. He said yes!”

Instead of going for a hug, Seong held out his hand. Park instantly gave him a high-five before bringing him to a hug. 

“That’s awesome, congratulations!” Park told his brother. It was good news indeed. Seong and Adam were both twenty-four, had jobs, stable income, and their own place. He confident the two were making a good decision. “C’mon, when’s the date? I need to write my embarrassing older brother speech.”

“Three weeks from today,” Seong said. “Me and Adam talked about it and we want _you_ to be the best man.”

Seong poked Park hard in the chest when he said it. The latter blinked a few times.

“You sure?”

“Of course!”

Park stood up straight and lifted his chin slightly. 

“That’d be a real honor, Seong.”

“Oh, stop it,” Seong said and hugged him again. “Who else could it be but you? Nobody else I know could fill the spot. So, get those medals nice and shiny! You better wear your uniform.”

The two shared a quiet moment. Park put his hand on the back of Seong’s head and jostled him slightly. 

“Look at you,” was all he said. 

Someone came walking from the house-side of the footbridge. 

“Seong, what’s going on? Who are you—”

Seong turned around and swept his arm towards Park as he bowed. Across the hall, Matilde dropped the book she was carrying and covered her mouth with both hands. She was a small woman, with grayed blonde hair, crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, and lines on either side of her mouth. Her skin remained pale and she wore only a little mascara. An elegant, red blouse was covered by an open black sweater, and she wore slacks that masked her wide hips. Pink socks covered her feet. 

Tears instantly ran down her cheeks, carrying some of the mascare. Immediately, she turned around and cupped her hand around her mouth. “Yu-Mi! Come quick!”

Whirling around, she raced towards Park with outstretched arms. He stood his ground, held out his arms, and barely kept his balance at Matilde through herself into him. She hugged him tightly and planted several big kisses on both cheeks. “Oh my goodness!” she kept saying. “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!”

“Hi Matilde,” Park said.

“Oh my goodness, you’re home!”

“I sure am,” he said, drawing back slightly. 

“Seong said you messaged him and oh, you little...” She whirled around and pretended like she was going to smack Seong, who pretended to be scared. Behind them, another woman, slightly taller than Matilde appeared. She had short black hair that came just past her ears; she had a flat fash, a tiny nose, and small lips. Her brown eyes were inquisitive and academic. Instead of being well dressed, she wore a plain gray hoodie and a pair of jeans. The only denotation of age were the vague little lines at the corners of her mouth.

Without a word, she charged over as well and hugged both Matilde and Park. 

“Seong said—” was the first thing she managed to say, her voice choked with tears. Furious, she turned and also pretended she was going to hit him. 

“Surpriiise,” Seong said as he flounced a few feet away. Both Yu-Mi and Matilde both turned their attention back on Park. Their hands touched his cheek, shoulders, and ran through his hair. They barragged him with countless questions: was he feeling well, was he hurt, why did he go along with Seong’s stupid prank, how long was he on leave for, did he have any normal clothes to wear, when did he arrive at the airbase, was the drive over terrible, what did want for dinner. It was too much for Park to answer in a single sentence and they weren’t too keen on the answers either. Each one took him by an arm and began dragging him into the house. Seong followed, laughing along as he carried Park’s bag. 

Just as they began walking through the second floor hall of the main house, they heard feet pounding up the staircase from the first floor. Jumping onto their floor was Park’s younger sister, Ji-Yu. She was a zipper sweatshirt and shorts; the hood flew off her head, exposing her long, black locks. While Seong and Yu-Mi had deep tan skin, her’s was only slight tan, but still not as pale as Park’s and Matilde’s. 

“You two are a couple of jerks!” she yelled as she charged him. She engulfed him with a massive hug, jumping off her feet to wrap her arms around his neck. Park gagged a little from her tight embrace. When she dropped down, she beat on his chest a little. “Did you get taller or something? I thought being on a Navy ship would make you fat! We were going to order pizza for dinner, does that sound alright? There’s chocolate cake in the fridge! Hurry up!”

***

Park lay in his bed. It was oppressively dark. He felt tired but couldn’t sleep. His stomach grumbled uncomfortably; it was the first time he ate pizza in thirteen months and he ate too much. In the morning, he’d pay for it, but he decided it was worth it. Just as overbearing as the night was the immense and incredible quiet of the house. Even his sister’s snoring from the room down the hall was inaudible. On a night like this, one in which she ate too much and fell asleep on the couch, she would be certainly loud in her slumber. In a strange way, he wished he could hear her. 

He reached over and turned on the lamp of his nightstand. Running a hand through his hair, he sat up and adjusted his white tank top. Looking around, he saw how carefully his mothers tended to his room. Everything was just the way he last left it and they had painstakingly cleaned every single one of his lacrosse trophies from school. On the wall, framed, a high school diploma from Pilvros Academy; around it were numerous certificates and academic awards. Beside it was a Bachelor’s Degree in Science from Corbulo Academy of Military Science. Below it were more awards. Next to them was a diploma of a Master of Public Policy Degree from the University of Oxford’s Blavatnik School of Government. There were no other framed awards around it. But beyond it were other certificates for Commendation Medals, Achievement Medals, Bronze Stars, Silver Stars, and Gold Stars. As well, there were pictures of a young Park in his cadet uniform, others in his OCP ACU’s during training exercises, and two of him in M52B Army-issue body armor. At the end, just before the open closet door, was one of him sitting in his dress uniform next to a UNSC flag. 

For a time, he studied it all. Looking forward, avoiding the trophies across his dresser, he sighed. Swinging his legs out of bed, he left the room and began creeping across the house. Barefoot, he hardly made any sound. He was the only one in the house who slept with his door closed and poked his head in Ji-Yu’s room. She was sprawling over her bed, barely under the covers, snoring. It was hard not to smile. Seong was balled up under his blankets, sleeping peaceably. His parents’ room was at the end of the hall, just before the glass walkway. Yu-Mi was sleeping with her arms around Matilde, one hand gently gripping her forehead. 

Park inspected all the doors and windows in the house. He even checked the garage door and looked out the window at the front gate. Everything was closed and locked; the yard was blazing with lights. Nobody standing on the street could see the house because of the walls lining the yard. 

Satisfied, he returned to his room, shut the door, and took a deep breath. He reached into his closet and retrieved an easel. Once he erected it, he found a blank canvas on the floor and placed it onto the easel. Adjusting the spot so he could sit on the chest at the foot of his bed, he nodded. He collected a scuffed up palette that was as long as his forearm, then produced a kit of paints and brushes. Quickly, he darted back out and filled two glass jars from the bathroom sink, came back, and arrayed everything within arm’s reach. From each bottle of paint, he squirted a small collection on the palette; gray, white, crimson, olive green, and black. He wet the brush, then gazed intensely at the canvas. 

Now, he felt like he was home. There was no sleeping tonight anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nowhere can man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than his own soul,"
> 
> \- Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor


	7. Passion and Strife

Park woke up to the sound of his door creaking open. He lifted his head from the pillow and saw his younger sister Ji-Yu. Her short, wet black locks fell over her ears and were wild. She wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. In her hand was a mug of freshly brewed coffee and the steam rose lazily from it. Instead of saying, ‘good morning,’ or walking further into the room, she remained in the threshold and her gaze remained fixated on the opposite side of the room. Following her gaze, Park looked at the painting he finished only a few hours before.

The top of the canvas was a blanket of dark space dotted by twinkling, yellow stars. Soaring through them were the sleek yet strong shapes of UNSC Navy ships; there was a  _ Charon _ -class frigate, a  _ Marathon _ -class heavy cruiser, and a  _ Paris _ -class heavy frigate. All three ships’ prows were engulfed in gold as they fired their Magnetic Accelerator Cannons at an unseen foe. Beneath them, the darkness gave way to a murky gray light. Beneath them were the agonized faces of Marines in the deep, olive drab colored armored plates. Some were firing their rifles but others were dropping, their faces frozen in pain as bullets thudded into their flesh. The ground they walked on was scorched and flames seemed to rise from cracks in the earth. The most prominent feature of the entire painting was the single warrior in the foreground. While the others charged in the same direction of the frigates, he was on his knees and his arms were outstretched. Both palms were open, as if he was beckoning or pleading. His head was tilted far, far back, as if he was looking up at the ships. Blood ran down his jaw and neck. 

He looked back at Ji-Yu. Finally, his sister was looking at him. 

“Jesus, Malcolm.” She shut the door behind her and sat down on the edge of his bed. Park accepted the mug from her outstretched hand. 

“I had a lot of time to study the ships,” he said, motioning to the canvas with it. “I have a newfound appreciation for what I used to do. The Navy fights hard battles but it’s not like the war on the ground.” 

Park was glad it was Ji-Yu who walked in and not his parents or brother. Out of his entire family, she seemed to have the greatest understanding of what his life in the military was like. Talking about it beyond career trajectories, goals, and accomplishments with his parents was an impossibility. The thought of their son terrified them. He understood that, it was a natural reaction. Still, there was a part of them that wanted to know what it was like for him when he was in the infantry. Every day the news was broadcasting more terrible reports about the ongoing insurgencies popping up everywhere across the Outer Colonies. Beyond the bombings, assassinations, kidnappings, and theft of military properity on the part of the Insurrectionists, there were the full-scale battles that enraptured the public. When his parents watched the news and saw images of those battles, they were thinking of him. It was easier to whitewash the details, impart that yes, he had been in the fighting but not in any serious danger. Lying about it used to be difficult for Park but now he found it easier than telling the truth. The less they were worried about him, the better. 

As for Seong, he was far too gentle and tender-hearted for the kind of stories Park. He didn’t doubt his younger brother’s fortitude to sit and endure the intimately brutal details from Park’s time in the infantry. But he had the option to spare him from those details and elected to pursue that one rather than take the time carefully imparting all the horrible firefights he’d been in. No, it was Ji-Yu. She was younger than Park but older than Seong. Although it seemed like a rather simple or even typical phrase to use for one of her character, she was far more mature beyond her years. Creative, intellectual, but also with a quiet, underlying strength. She proved that time and again throughout the various martial arts tournaments she won. While Park’s room was decorated with his military, lacrosse, and scholastic achievements, and Seong’s room sported a number of the theater awards he received, Ji-Yu’s room was lined with all the various colored belts, medals, and trophies from those tournaments. Having faced an opponent in what was a challenging, physically demanding duel, no doubt lent her an understanding of what he’d been through.

As he watched her eyes cross back and forth across the canvas, though, Park decided he was probably overthinking it. Ji-Yu was just mature, strong, and unafraid, and it weaved very naturally with her kinder, empathetic side. She was a very complete person. Whenever Park sent a message to her personally or was able to snag some time for a video chat, he never spared any details. She could take it. 

“I thought you were just supposed to work on the ship,” she said, still staring at the painting. 

“It didn’t work out that way all the time,” he replied, “sometimes it was easier for me to be the bridge between ground forces and the Navy when I was on the ground. And the rebels staged some very daring raids on repair stations and I was more than happy to pick up a rifle.” Park took a small gulp from the coffee mug. It was well-balanced; a hint of creamer and a dash of sugar to sweeten it, but not overly so. He sighed instinctively as the warmth spread throughout his stomach. “It was very nasty fighting. Close quarters, lots of bad wounds. Just a mess.”

Parked rubbed his forehead for a few moments and then stood up. Ji-Yu did too and she offered a very kind smile.

“We’ll have to paint a few things together while you’re on leave,” she said cheerfully. Park nodded in agreement. Seong didn’t care much for it but Ji-Yu really enjoyed it. She was far better and more creative; her paintings often required a viewer to wrack their brain. Park’s were more straightforward, at least, he thought they were. “Well, are you going to sell this one or shall I banish it to the closet, never to be seen again?’

“Banish it.” Park enjoyed it as a hobby but did not plan to make a career out of it or even wring a few credits out of the practice.

With many sweeping gestures and flamboyant postures, Ji-Yu whisked the completed canvas from the easel and tucked it into a larger, cardboard-paper packet that was stashed within the open closet. She took the extra steps to put away the easel and the remaining painting supplies. When she finished, she assumed a triumphant, commanding stands with her arms akimbo. 

“Now, wash your butt and get it downstairs quickly. I’m making pancakes this morning.”

She disappeared from his room and Park went through a typical morning routine, brushing his teeth, showering, drying off, and throwing on a set of civilian clothes. Even after spending a decade in the Army and having been on leave plenty of times, he still found civilian clothes to be rather alien. Military uniforms had a way of adhering to one’s dimensions, hugging them in both the wrong and the right places. One’s body grew used to moving in them and he found the plain blue jeans he wore, t-shirt, and his old Pilvros Academy hoodie. It was a navy blue color with the title of the school written in an arc across the chest. The letters were yellow and outlined with white. All of it felt baggy and loose. Although the jeans fit rather comfortably, he still wore a belt. 

When he came downstairs into their rather opulent kitchen, he was greeted by the sweet smell of syrup and the always delicious sending of frying bread. Ji-Yu was at the stove flipping the flapjacks on a larger tray. Already, a larger pile sat on the island in the center of the kitchen. A granite countertop stretched around the length of the kitchen, branching off from the oven and stove in the center. The right side was devoted to the sink and dishwasher. Overhead were numerous black, paneled cabinets. Below the counter, the cupboards were white. It was a very sterile aesthetic to Park, who was used to the beige, khaki, and olive drab in the UNSC.

Seong was already in the living room watching television with Matilde. Yu-Mi was just sitting down. All three looked over their shoulders and smiled at him. Park gave them a little wave as he went to the fridge. When he reached for the orange juice inside, he found the leftover cake beside it. Both number candles were still on the top; 29. For some reason, he stared at it for a few moments before getting the juice carton out. He poured himself a glass before fixing himself a plate of pancakes. He slathered each slice with a square of butter and then doused them in syrups. They were fresh and still warm. As he walked into the living room, Seong changed the channel to one of the news stations. 

“...and from the Outer Colonies, there’s been another Insurrectionist attack on civilian infrastructure,” said an anchor with fine blonde hair that was shining with product. “Last week, on the colony  Víťazný Február, Insurrectionists seized New Trnava Central Bank, took hostages, and inflicted heavy casualties on responding police and Colonial Military Administration troops. Many of the hostages were killing in the ensuing, intense firefight and the Insurrectionists even managed to detonate a bomb...”

Footage showed police cruisers being shot to pieces on a rainy street. Wounded officers were everywhere. Officers took cover, stood up, and returned fire with their M6 series sidearms. As the anchor continued, the footage changed and showed a fireball erupting from the third floor of the building. “...Governor Stoch has requested the UNSC to intervene to stabilize the situation, but many doubt—”

Seong began changing the channels and smiled at Park. 

“Little too early in the morning for that,” he remarked. Instead of joining his brother and parents on the coach, he sat on the adjacent armchair, balanced the plate on his knees, and began eating. After taking a few bites, he looked up at his parents. Both were smiling warmly at him. Many times, he saw those expressions and he treasured them greatly. He did his best to return it; Park always felt that he could not sufficiently express the love he felt for them. 

For a little while, nobody spoke. Ji-Yu continued cooking, Seong kept searching for something to watch, and the rest ate. It was fairly normal. Most of the chatter and excited jibber-jabbering occurred on the first night home, when everyone’s emotions were high and the thrill of the homecoming gave them all energy. The next day, so much had been discussed there was little to talk about. In a way, it was very pleasant; the quiet, the calm. Sometimes, it was just better for Park to sit quietly with his family. Forcing conversation was not something he liked anyways and defaulted to silence even among close company. 

But he knew his parents would find something to talk about soon. When he finally finished his meal and sat back, Matilde set her plate on the coffee table and leaned against the sofa’s armrest. 

“So Augustus...” she began. Matilde was the only one in the family that ever referred to him by his first name, the name she had chosen for him. To hear it from anyone else felt foreign and he knew they felt the same. “...is there anything special you’d like to do while you’re on leave?”

“I suppose I’ll want to go somewhere with Hannah for a little while. Nothing major, just a change of scenery so we can get away. Besides that and the wedding,” he smirked at Seong who made the finger-gun gesture at him, “I’d like to just pass from my place and here, spend time with everyone, catch up, relax.”

“Well, you just let me know if you change your mind and want to do something really special. I’m sure we can come up with something,” Matilde assured him. 

“Has anyone heard from Hannah, by the way?” Park asked. “I called her last night and it went right to her message.”

“We texted earlier in the week,” Yu-Mi said, “she said it was looking really busy for her.”

“I’ll drop in on her office later, give her a surprise,” Park decided. He enjoyed surprising her, it always made the reunion all the more wholesome and special. Not to mention it was far easier than just showing up or requiring her to pick up him from the port. 

Yu-Mi dabbed her lips with a napkin before folding it onto her empty plate. She handed it to Matilde before clasping her hands and resting them on her knees.

“So, what’s next for Captain Park?” she asked, doing her best to measure her tone. 

“Reclassification. I think I’ve done as much as I can as a liaison officer and I have a lot of training and experience to bring into another MOS.”

“And what’s it going to be this time?” 

Park knew he’d have to cross this bridge eventually, although he was hoping he could have saved it until a later date. Out of his whole family, his mother Yu-Mi took the greatest interest in his career trajectory. She even learned a number of the Military Occupational Specialities by heart, knowing their numeric and letter codes. This actually made it both easier and more difficult to talk to her about it. He didn’t respond for a few moments, trying to find the right thing to say. But there was no way to soften the blow. 

“Once my leave is over, I’m going to put in for selection into special forces. I’m fit, trained, experienced, I think I can do a lot of good there. I’d like to have some experience in that realm before I ascend into operations and then onto taking larger commands. The training will be brutal but I have enough experience to get through. If I don’t, I’ll reclassify back into the infantry.”

Everybody stared at him for a long time. At first, he was hopeful they would break the silence so he wouldn’t have to. None of them appeared receptive to the idea and although he expected that, he found himself annoyed by that. Eventually, he furrowed his brow. Many times, he had this discussion before and he was not in the mood to have it again. “This is my career. I’m the only one who makes decisions about  _ my  _ career.” He picked up his plate, then his mothers’ plates, and brought them over to the kitchen. Instead of washing them by hand, he slid them into the dishwasher and then cleaned his hands. Ju-Yi was beside him a moment and she looked very upset. Her eyes were dry but expressed a deep frustration he was very familiar with. While he was not unaffected, he bore it as well as he could. 

“Malcolm, we understand this is your career. We’re not trying to control you.”

“Then we don’t need to have a discussion about it,” Park said flatly as he poured himself another glass of orange juice. 

“Please, Malcolm, we’re just worried. How can we not be worried? We all thought your career would be taking you further away from combat and now you’re telling us you want to go back in. That’s scary for us.”

“I apologize my decisions scare you but I’m not going to change them.”

When he finished, he cleaned the cup and put it on the drying rack. Without waiting for anyone else to speak, he went back upstairs and into his room. He was not going to stay idle. Taking off the hoodie, he changed into a button down shirt and into a pair of beige trousers. After tucking in his shirt and putting on his belt, he sat down on the chest at the end of his bed to tie the laces of his brown leather shoes. 

When he finished, he looked up and found Matilde standing in the doorway. Park immediately began tying the other shoe. “We have had this discussion thirty-seven times the moment I graduated from CAMS. _Thirty-seven_ _times_ in ten years _._ Does anybody take into account I am a _trained_ UNSC Army officer who knows how to take care of himself?” This he said in a subdued but otherwise heated tone. He held out his arms briefly in exasperation. “I have led soldiers into battle for seven of those years and I have to come back home to be coddled by my family. I’m a grown man and an officer. I wish you would all start treating me like that.”

Matilde didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Park finished putting on his shoes, went over to his desk, and collected his wallet. Going to the closet, he put on a light, brown jacket. When he turned around, Matilde was now sitting on the chest. She was smiling sadly. 

“You might be Malcolm Park the officer, but that’s not who you are in this house. Seong and Ji-Yu don’t see your uniform, they just see their big brother. When Yu-Mi and I look at you, we see our baby boy. I understand you want us to see Captain Park but all we can see is Malcolm.”

Park conceded she was right despite his indignation. He paused momentarily but did not look back at his mother. Instead, he grabbed his identification tags which he had taken off last night and draped them back around his neck. 

“I’m going to see Hannah,” he said.

“You can borrow my car.”

“Thanks.”

Park went downstairs. Once, he might have felt nervous, anxious, or even embarrassed to go down after having words like that with his family. But he felt nothing and didn’t meet any of their gazes as he descended back to the first floor. On the other side of the right hand counter of the kitchen was a small roll-top desk made of finely polished, dark wood. Inside, there were brass hooks screwed into the left side. Each one held a set of keys and she took the one labeled MT. Without so much as casting a backwards glance towards his family, he ascended to the second floor, crossed the glass bridge, went to the garage, and started the car. The engine of Matilde’s dark green Genet began purring and the garage doors opened. Instead of immediately driving out, Park gripped the steering wheel tightly. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, and suddenly felt very guilty. He promised himself he’d rectify the situation when he got home. Starting his sixty days of leave like this was unacceptable, both as an Army officer and a family member.

* * *

Holding Rosie’s hand in her own, Monika crossed the parking lot of a larger complex of various private medical practices. It was in a compound adjacent to New Trnava Medical Center, a sprawling inner-city campus complete with vegetative parks and communal areas. Most of the buildings possessed the clean white-silver building construction and blue glass windows of modern architects. There were tall towers, air pads, vehicle depots, and expansive parking lots. Although Víťazný Február tended to be a rainy planet in Spring, the poor weather fronts occasionally broke up. Today, the sky was clear and crisp. Not a single cloud drifted in the breeze. Overhead, the sun shone brightly and made the grassy parks of NTMC glow. 

Many families were out. The area was generally reserved for families and friends waiting for loved ones to come out of the hospital. But it was such a beautiful place many people came just to walk through it as if it was any other park in the city. Monika couldn’t help but look at all the happy faces milling up and down the sidewalks. Parents walked hand in hand with their children. Some brought pets and were playing fetch with their dogs. Kids played tag, racing between the small thickets of pine trees. Couples sat on the wooden benches, arms around one another. 

It was as if a dramatic, bloody incident hadn’t taken place a week earlier. Monika sighed and looked down at her daughter. Rosie came up to her waist and short reddish-brown hair, the shade leaning towards the latter. Her thick, wavy locks came down to jaw-line. Perpetually happy, she wore a toothy smile that complemented her blue eyes. They were a lighter shade, almost faded, but there always seemed to be a spark in them. Dressed in a little hoodie, a maroon skirt, black leggings, and little white sneakers, she bounced along beside Monika.

“Are you excited to see Uncle Jake?”

“Yep!” 

“He’s going to be very happy to see you.”

Rosie giggled, clearly excited. Her attitude encouraged Monika. She had spared many details, only telling her daughter that Jacob Lake got hurt and needed to go to the hospital. He’d be there for a while, she said, and it would make him feel better if he saw people he liked. Game for anything, Rosie agreed. Already having seen him, Monika was confident his state wouldn’t scare her but he still wasn’t in the best shape. If Janice was waiting outside the door, that would indicate it wasn’t a good time. 

Monika squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I promise this won’t take too long, okay?”

“I know!”

They changed directly slightly and walked towards one of the many doors to the office. Together, they passed through a door marked Baník-Marek Counseling. It was a small lobby, with chairs lining the left side of the room and a windowed counter on the right. Going up to the window, Monika greeted the secretary, an elderly lady in her late sixties. She wore curly gray hair and a gold chain necklace with a cross on it. When she smiled, all the wrinkles on her face became far more noticable. 

“Hi, Monika Pokorný, I’m here for my one-thirty with Dr. Baník.”

“Alrighty, he should be finishing up,” she said after checking her terminal screen. “Ready for the copayment?”

Monika took out her credit chit. It was a small copayment with the department’s medical insurance covering most of the bill. The secretary ran it through and then returned her chit. She kept one slip of paper, had Monika sign another which the latter kept, and then reached into her desk. Procuring a box of crayons and a few sheets of paper, she handed them over. Smiling, Monika nodded.

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome,” the secretary said kindly, tapping the edge of the desk. “You have a seat right there, he’ll be right out.”

Monika and Rosie sat side by side. Immediately, Rosie began drawing. Leaning over, Monika grinned as she saw her crafting a happy scene of her with the Lake family. Then she began scribbling a little note on it. Before Monika could read it, a patient walked out and went to the desk. From the door at the end of the lobby, Dr. Baník appeared. He waved her over. 

Kneeling in front of Rosie, she brushed a few locks from her eyes. “Alright, I’ll be about thirty minutes. You stay right here where the nice lady can see you. If you get bored, there’s a couple books in my purse. Make sure nobody takes it, okay?” Rosie took the black leather purse, tucked it behind her, and leaned back. Then, she raised her hand in salute and comically waved her hand. Monika giggled and went into the therapist’s office. 

It was a fairly typical set up. In the center of the room were two, cushioned, gray armchairs. To the right was a leather sofa. Behind it was a waist-high bookcase packed to the brim. Across the top were a number of potted cacti, each of varying size, shape, and prickliness. On the opposite side of the room, there was a desk and workspace wedged between two more bookcases, although these ones went all the way up the ceiling. Behind the therapist’s chair, which was furthest from the door, were a few filing cabinets. Above them hung a number of paintings. Monika didn’t really know art all that much, so the impressionistic sweeps and colors didn’t register to her. But she found the warm purples, pinks, and yellows in many of them to be quite calming. 

Taking off her blue jacket, she hung it on the coat hook next to the door. Left in a black turtleneck sweater, she sat down in the chair. 

“How’re we doing today, Monika?”

“About as well as I can be.”

Dr. Baník was a middle-aged man. He had dark brown hair that was graying on the sides. His face was narrow and he didn’t shave regularly, so he wore a sheen of salt and pepper stubble on his cheeks. Wearing tan slacks, a white shirt, a red tie, and a dark blue sweater vest, he looked more like a high school history teacher than a therapist. He had deep green eyes that lacked a little light, which made the rest of his face appear a little dull. But his lips were shaped in a natural smirk which gave him an overall amicable quality. 

Instinctually, Monika checked her watch. This made Baník chuckle. 

“In a rush?”

“Oh, no, I beg your pardon,” Monika said politely. “Just a reflex. I have a lot to do.”

“So you like to stay busy even when you’re not working.”

“I don’t like to sit around even when the department tells me to.”

It was standard procedure after shooting incidents, whether small or larger scale, for the involved officers to be taken off work for one or two weeks. Having been involved in a few, Monika was used to it. The subtle anxiousness she felt as a younger officer had long faded away; she knew everything she did during the shootout was acceptable by police standards. Being taken off work was just routine procedure and it was nothing to worry about. 

“How’s that farm of yours doing?”

“Fine. Making steady profits. When I have time off like this I try to help out with the work. I have a good crew, though, so I don’t really need to do anything but sign the paychecks.”

“Looks like this is going to be a good year.”

“Hopefully the tariffs won’t kill us this year,” Monika breathed. 

For a few minutes, they didn’t speak. Baník continued to wear his smirk. He crossed his legs, clasped his hands, and rested them in his lap. Monika remained in a stiff, upright posture, refusing to lean back. Her hands remained flat on her thighs, but her right leg kept bouncing. She was well aware Baník saw that. 

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?”

“Did the department give you a line of questions or are you just winging it?” Monika replied sharply, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge.”

“I understand,” he said kindly. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Monika shook her head. “Alright. Was that the biggest shootout you’ve been a part of?”

“Yes.”

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified,” Monika answered. “We’ve had some pretty big events regarding the Insurrection before but this was the biggest one. A lot of people died. Cops, civilians, CMA soldiers, and the perpetrators. This is stuff I thought I would see only on the news. It’s the first time I felt really outmatched; that was some stuff the UNSC is supposed to take care of, not city cops.”

She shook her head. “I had to kill people. It goes without saying I don’t like pulling the trigger on anybody, but I don’t feel bad about it either. They were trying to kill me, team guys, and innocent people. But I lost a lot of friends and colleagues, and they had wives, husbands, kids. That’s...that’s pretty to deal. I can’t help but think there was  _ more  _ I could have done.”

Baník nodded, freeing his hands and rested his arms on the armrests. 

“You’re an empathetic person. You care about people.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I recall on one of your first visits here you said that policing isn’t just a job for you. You really believe in this stuff.”

“Yes, sir. I consider myself a servant of the public.”

“People who think like that tend to feel as though their efforts aren’t enough.” He leaned forward and pressed his palms together. “Monika, you might think you didn’t do enough. But take a look at the actions you did take. If you hadn’t done what you did, how many more people would have gotten hurt?”

Monika’s eyes flitted down to the floor. She was able to drag Lake to safety and dress his wounds. He was in the hospital and would need replacements for his knees and legs, but he was still alive. After the SWAT teams were ambushed, she was able to go in and pull the survivors out of there. When the bomb went off, she was the first one to the disabled CMA QRF and was able to call in medical personnel to their position. And she gave pursuit to the surviving Insurrectionists; only one got away. The more she thought about it, the more she considered that she had been able to do some good during that terrible day. But the futile feeling lingered and persisted no matter how she tried to push it out. 

Leaning forward, folding her arms across her chest and propping her elbows up on her knee, she continued to look at the floor. A few strands of hair, loose from her ponytail, fell over her face. 

“One of them got away. That didn’t bother me at first. I guess it doesn’t eat at me too much. But, I can’t help thinking that's a bad sign. Like an omen.” She looked back up. “I think things are going to get worse. A lot worse.”

Baník studied her for a time. Leaning back, he crossed his legs again but kept his arms on the armrests. 

“I think we’re all familiar with the expression that things often get worse before they get better. It’s important not to fixate on certain images, experiences, or thoughts. They can fester and make you feel very ill. Hope is an emotion, but hope can always be a conscious effort. Focus on how things can improve rather than how they can get worse. Remember, there’s no guarantee things will get worse.”

“And there’s no guarantee they’ll get better,” Monika replied, just remembering how much she disliked going to therapy. 

* * *

Getting back into the car, Park dialed a number into his COM-pad. Raising it to his ear, he drummed the fingers on his left hand on the steering wheel. As he waited, he observed the office complex. It was a small compound and the offices didn’t even go up to the second floor. Glancing at the entrance to the parking lot, he observed the list of practices and names written in golden letters on elongated, ebony placards. On the bottom was the name Hannah Mondy, Defense Attorney. 

Just on the third ring, it cut and somebody coughed briefly. 

“Hello.”

“Good morning, Cory. This is Captain Malcolm Park.”

Cory was a paralegal that worked in Hannah’s office. He often opened and closed the offices. Park hoped he would have had the office opened but forgot it was the weekend. Park liked Cory; he was young, fresh out of college, and intelligent. Hannah chose her assistants and employees very well; Park knew she was grooming him for more responsibilities in the office.

“Yeah, hey Malcolm!” Cory responded. “I didn’t realize you were home. What’s up, what can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to get a hold of Hannah. She hasn’t picked up her phone or answered a text all day. My family said they haven’t heard from her all week either. Are things busy or is she on a trip or a case and just forgot to tell me?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been slammed for the past two weeks. Literally, it’s been come in, work-work-work, five minutes for lunch, work-work-work, and then go home. I’ve been staying late on weekdays just to catch up. Hannah, er, Ms. Mondy just has so much to do she’s taken a lot of her work home with her.”

“She’s never worked from home.”

“I know, been really weird! She’s been hard to get a hold of even for me and I frigging work for her. But she’s still, you know,  _ alive _ ,” he joked, “she sends me messages all the time. Well, not messages really, just instructions and more stuff for me to do. But yeah, she’s probably at home. You haven’t been there yet?”

“No, I went to my parents first.”

“That’s great. Hey, do you have any plans for—”

“I have to go now, Cory. Thank you for your help. Goodbye.”

“Oh, bye!”

Park hung up, turned on the engine, and drove out of the parking lot. Hannah was a hardworking person and highly organized, in her office that is. At home, she tended to drop the skills that made her an excellent attorney. When she and Park were together, they split everything, from cleaning the apartment to cooking meals. But on her own, she did the minimum amount of household chores, just enough to keep the place from becoming a sty. Although Park liked a clean and orderly home, he didn’t mind what she did with the place when he wasn’t there. It was only fair as the person who actually lived there year-round got to do what they wanted with it.

He didn’t mind her lack of cleanliness at home, anyways. Home was a place to drop habits and ethics, where one could kick back, relax, and enjoy a life detached from the rest of the world. Nobody was required to wear a face or speak a certain way. They could just be themselves. Sometimes, he thought that was more important for Hannah than it was for him. Being an Army officer was his life and he enjoyed it. On the other hand, she never dreamed of becoming an attorney and was somewhat steered towards the direction by her schooling and parents. 

Either way, he was excited to see her. For Park, expressing excitement and many other emotions tended to be difficult. But it was easier with Hannah than anybody else, even his own family. He was looking forward to dropping his guard for a change. 

When he finally arrived at the apartments they lived at, he was already smiling. His and Hannah’s apartment was a wonderful suite on the top floor of a thirty-floor building. Hamilcar Apartments was one of the finest establishments in Pilvros, offering a decent spacing and every amenity possible at an affordable price. Of course, the higher one went in the building the more they paid. Combining their two annual salaries, they were able to afford one of the largest apartments in the building. When they first moved in three years ago, they spent nearly two weeks buying and moving furniture, paintings, and the majority of their personal belongings to it. One might have found the arrangement process to be a nightmare, but they enjoyed every minute of it. To them, it was creating their own little world, just for them. 

Passing through the lobby and flashing his identification and keys, he rode the elevator all the way up the thirtieth floor. Turning left, he went to the door at the very end of the hall. Just above the number pad was a label that read: A. M. Park & H. Mondy. When they first put in their names, he wanted to write his rank at that time. But Hannah wanted to keep all things military out of their home and he agreed to the demand. His parents were more than happy to keep his award citations at their home.

Punching in the five digit security code, the screen flashed green. He inserted his key, unlocked the door, and walked in. When he flicked on the lights, he froze. All the furniture was gone. None of the chairs, stands, tables, couches, bookcases, or desks were present. The carpets, blinds, paintings, and every photograph were gone. Stepping cautiously into the apartment, he checked the kitchen. The fridge, pantry, cupboards, and cabinets were all empty. Their expensive cutlery, silverware, and dishes were absent. Going into the bedroom, he found the bed frame, mattress, and pillows all gone. The bathroom was devoid of anything material, as was the linen closet, and the guest room. 

All that he could find was a stack of three cardboard boxes in the center of the apartment. He stood over it for a time, unwilling to open it. Park already knew what was waiting for him. There was no need to confirm it. Nonetheless, his hands automatically opened the top. Inside he found a great deal of his clothes and a few trinkets he kept over the years; a few rings from victorious lacrosse tournaments, a couple photographs of his family, a little Pilvros Academy flag. 

Park rifled through everything, searching for a note of some kind. But there was nothing. All three boxes were packed with his belongings but there was no note. He didn’t need an explanation but he wanted one. Just as he was about to stop, he found a slip of paper. Thinking this was it, he snapped it open. Instead, he found it blank. But a little square piece fell out of it. Picking it up, he realized it was a video chip. Inserting it into his COMM-pad, he waited for it to download. A minute later, the attachment read, ‘ready to play.’ He clicked the button. 

Immediately, he saw two people moving in tandem in a disheveled bed. The blinds were drawn and the room was dim. Suddenly, there was a loud, female moan. 

“Yes baby, fill me up, fill me—”

Park closed the video file and took out the video chip. He stood alone in his apartment with a piece of his life packed into three cardboard boxes. Both hands curled into fists and trembled. Retreating into himself, he affirmed he could recover from this. He could come back and live as he always had. But his heart still swelled and the grief rose in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Passion and strife bow down the mind,"   
> \- Virgil, Roman poet


	8. The Better To Thinking

“UNSC Personnel Command, New Carthage, this is Lieutenant Uthman, how can I help?”

“Hello, this Captain Augustus Park. I’m trying to access my profile to change some of my information but I’m having trouble logging in. I’ve tried to go through the direct link and through the PERSCOM portal, too. I keep getting the same message.”

Park sat at the desk in his room in front of his personal terminal. Next to his hand was his COM-pad with the speaker function activated. On the screen, the website all UNSC personnel were registered was devoid of all of its usual windows, links, and pictures except for a line in bold text. ‘Site temporarily unavailable,’ read the line.

“Oh, I’m sorry Captain. The inter-system site is currently undergoing some maintenance and will be unavailable for about thirty minutes. Apparently there was an error in the notification system and not everybody received it. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

“I understand. When will it be back up?”

“Another thirty to forty-five minutes, sir. If you’d like, I can transfer you over to one of our assistants and they can access your profile for you. It’s secure, safe, and quick.”

It wasn’t urgent and Park didn’t like to abuse those kinds of channels, but he was agitated with the delay. He just wanted to get it over with so he could get on with the rest of his day.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The line grew quiet, there were two rings, and then he heard someone pick up on the other end. 

“PERSCOM assistance line, Sergeant Peck speaking,” said a female voice on the other side. “Full name, rank, branch of service, please.”

“Augustus Malcolm Park, Captain, Army.”

He heard Peck typing on the other end. After a few moments, she cleared her throat. 

“Okay Captain, what can I help you with?”

“I need to change my permanent address, please.”

“Last four digits of your service number, please.”

“Three, six, five, one.”

There was more tapping. 

“And the new address?”

“Seven hundred forty-five Barca Residencies, Pilvros, zip eight, one, seven, three, niner, zero.” Park could have rolled his eyes. He spoke slowly, clearly, and authoritatively, as if he was communicating with another officer or RTO via SQUADCOM. After so many years, he was able to adjust quickly from his deployment mind-set to his off-duty one. Still, patterns of speech and life tended to subsist. Sometimes, civilians found it odd but Park always thought it somewhat humorous. 

Sergeant Peck continued typing. The clatter lasted for another minute or so. Park was used to it. Commissioned officers tended to have more interaction with PERSCOM than the average enlisted service member. Many were draftees or volunteers paying off tuition loans or putting in the time to qualify for the numerous, modular monetary packages the UNSC offered for differing periods of services. While many enlisted men and women went on to make careers as non-commissioned officers, the majority of career-seekers in the UNSC Army were officers. 

Anyone aspiring to make a life in the Armed Forces was going to become very friendly with the PERSCOM database. It housed their CSV and countless information packets for review boards, pending and outstanding orders, promotions, or judiciary issues, updates regarding duty stations; effectively, it was the main online portale for a UNSC service member. An officer like Park needed to log in regularly to review and update information as not everything was automatically logged by PERSCOM. Usually, he had to upload the latest documentation regarding his fitness, assignments, scores, and training. 

He was used to it but understood why so many of the individuals who planned just to serve for a few years found it bothersome to log in so often. Some compared it to the labyrinthine online college portals which were nothing but drop down menus within menus. 

“Alright then, Captain. The new information has been updated. All you’ll need to do is log in, confirm the information, and follow the prompts asking for things like your service number and your security clearance code. This is just to verify that the information the user requested was input correctly and was not an attempt from an outside source. You’ll actually get a notification about it.”

As if on cue, a small message box appeared on the screen of his COMM-pad with a do-no-reply address from PERSCOM’s automatic messaging system. The chime was very loud. Sergeant Peck laughed. “Yep, there it is. You have about twenty-four hours to log in otherwise the changes won’t be saved. The site will be back up soon.”

“Understood Sergeant, I’ll take care of it as soon as possible. Thank you for your help. Have a good day.”

“You’re welcome, Captain. Goodbye.”

He hung up. Park released a long, labored sigh. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something moving by the door. Quickly, he looked over but saw nothing. Narrowing his gaze, he leaned back in his chair. 

“Come in.”

Sheepishly, Yu-Mi and Matilde came through the door. Both wore worried expressions but tried to offset their concern by wearing understanding smiles. Matilde was carrying a mug of hot chocolate and steam rose from the contents. 

“Heeey, honey,” Yu-Mi said.

“Hi,” Park answered flatly. 

“We just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Matilde asked, setting the mug down and pushing it over gingerly with her hand. Layers of whipped cream covered the surface of the hot chocolate and came to an upward crest in the center. Steam continued to waft upwards and the cream was beginning to melt. A spoon was also still in the cup. 

Park was agitated by their tone and by the gesture, but he reminded himself they were just thinking about their son. Being indignant over something as trivial as a cup of hot chocolate was ridiculous, more so over a kind act. Even though he didn’t particularly want any, he blew on it enough to raise a part of the whipped cream layer. From the opening, he took a careful sip. 

“Positive,” he said, knowing a dollop of the whipped cream was on the tip of his nose. It was his best attempt at trying to show them he was okay. Neither of them laughed but they smiled charitably. 

“Why don’t you just take it easy today, huh? Finish up whatever you’re doing and just  _ chill _ , you know?” Yu-Mi suggested.

“Actually, I was planning to go for a run and exercise after I finish this,” Park said, jerking his thumb at his terminal. “It’s important I stay in shape.”

“You’re already in shape,” Yu-Mi said and promptly received a light elbow jab from Matilde.

“Sounds good!” she said. 

Both departed. Park stared at the door for a longer time. Shaking his head, he pulled out the spoon and began scooping the whipped cream off the top. While he indulged in the snack and waited for the PERSCOM site to come back up, he opened up the search engine. He typed in ‘apartments for rent near me,’ and a moment later a map with multiple pins on it appeared. Some he already knew and immediately crossed off in his mind. Some were too expensive for limited services, others were in poor condition, and more than a few were in undesirable areas. Never having paid much mind to reviews, he ignored the various stars and comments people left. As he continued the search, he was able to narrow it down to three potential options. 

Trebia, Trasiimene, and Cannae Overlook Apartments was his top choice. It was a self-contained little place on the bluffs in the northern suburbs that offered countless services and utilities. Despite its very desirable location of green hills, gardens, a nearby park, and close proximity to markets and public facilities, it was very affordable. His only issue was that it was very far from his family’s home. Tagus Hotels was a name to a set of apartments in downtown Pilvros which were well-known and liked. Closer to home, they were a little too expensive for his tastes and he preferred somewhere in the suburbs compared to being in the inner city. Finally, there was a little place in New Venosa, a little town outside the city, which had a house for rent. This was farther away than the Overlook Apartments and more expensive than Tagus, but it was quiet, removed, and still had good access to the city. 

Over the years, Park learned to trust his first instincts and initial ideas. This served him well just in the military but throughout his life. Decisions were easy to make. Process of elimination and weighing the pros and cons tended to slow things down. If he was a civilian, that might have been acceptable. But if an officer wasted time, lives were on the line. In the end, he chose Trebia, Trasimmene, and Cannae Overlook Apartments. There was a vacancy on the fifth floor with a bathroom, a moderately sized bedroom, a kitchenette, a balcony overlooking the bluffs and not the parking lot, and a living room large enough to experiment with furniture placement. 

In the time it took him to fill out the application and submit it, the PERSCOM portal was back online. He transitioned back to that site in the original tab, logged in, ran through all the prompts Sergeant Peck said he would, and finalized the update. A green notification bubble indicated that the change was approved and saved. Upon reading that, Park smiled; it wasn’t even noon yet and he already checked off two major boxes for the day. He liked staying productive even when he was on leave. 

He finished the hot chocolate and changed; he wore a gray t-shirt with the UNSC Army logo on the left side; it consisted of an inverted black triangle with a five-pointed white star in the center. On either end of the top side were two angular shapes that curved around the corners like bulwards. Below the bottom point was a bold arrow that ran half the length of both sides; its ends were frayed and the joint was flat, not pointed. Below it was the word, ‘ARMY,’ in big, bold letters. He put on a pair of black shorts that came down to just above his knees. Donning his heart-rate monitor, he linked it to the fitness application on his COMM-pad, then put on his sneakers. Setting out with his earphones, wallet, and a bottle of water, he passed his family without giving them so much as a look and went out the door. 

Jogging up the street, he enjoyed the warm air and the suburban scent. It rained overnight so many of the leaves and flower petals from trees and bushes coats the sidewalks. Morning dew clung to the grass, drops of water fell from leaves, dampened gardens bowed and hung low to the ground. Wet concrete was overpowered by the sweet flowers and grass. Nobody was really out. It was the weekend, families didn’t want to go out because of the rain, so only the occasional car or other morning jogger passed by. Golden morning sunlight broke through the gray clouds and washed over the neighborhood. 

Park didn’t listen to music while he jogged but kept his earphones in as a precaution. His family was associated with many of the other affluent clans who made their homes in this region of Pilvros. With the amount of social functions they attended together and the family get-togethers, he was on a first name basis with many of them. Although, he didn’t name any among them as friends or even acquaintances. Not speaking to them was much easier than attempting conversation. He could fake it for a while, but if he could skip, he did. Wearing earphones warded almost everybody off. 

But as he clocked his first mile at five and a half minutes, he spotted James Caro and his wife Ruth. An affluent couple, James was an experienced businessman who went on trips all over New Carthage for the company he worked for. Ruth was a housewife but she used to run the same firm’s accounting section. Both were in their sixties but often took walks together. James’s face was slightly lined and he dyed his gray locks to an oily black. Also dying her hair blonde, Ruth’s face was more pinched and she wore a heavy amount of makeup.

Before he could cross the street, they both waved at him. Park sighed, paused his monitor, and slowed to a stop in front of them. 

“Welcome home my boy!” James said, shaking his hand very hard.

“Mr. Caro, Mrs. Caro, it’s good to see you,” Park said as politely as he could. The couple were dressed in blue and purple jogging suits and wore sports visors. 

“I bet your parents are so happy you’re home,” Ruth cooed.

“Yes. It’s good to be back.”

“So did you see much action?” James asked and laughed. “Hope you gave the rebels a real pounding, they’re bad for business, know what I mean?” Again, he laughed and clapped Park on the shoulder. Before he could even respond, the businessman poked him in the chest. “Say, you and your family should come over for dinner some time.”

“That’s something you’ll have to talk to Matilde and Yu-Mi about, not me,” Park said. Again, he tried to sound as polite as possible. Really, he just wanted to continue his run.

“Tell them we’ll give them a ring sometime soon,” Ruth told him, patting him on the forearm. 

“Okay, have a good day!” Park said quickly, skirted around them, and resumed jogging. He picked up the pace and reset his monitor while he did. The street ran up a hill before it sloped back down as it got closer to the city. Whenever he ran while at home, Park’s goal was a small market that occupied a minor business complex that served as a link between the main city and the suburbs. It was exactly two miles away from the end of the long, meandering private neighborhood. 

Besides the market, a quaint building with a peaked roof and big glass window panes on either side of the entrance, there was a small athletics shop and a store that sold mattresses. Both of these minor establishments were across the road from the market and were squat, square, brick buildings with many windows. The plaza itself had a lot of line and circular brick patterns in the concrete, a number of benches, and lamp posts. All the parking space was in front of the market building. 

Stopping in front of the market and registering his two miles at twelve minutes and fifty-eight seconds, not counting his break to speak to the Caro’s, he caught his breath. Walking a circuit over the plaza and taking small sips from his water bottle, he decided to treat himself. When he was a kid, he, Ji-Yi, Seong, and some of the other neighborhood children would engage in foot races. The finished line was the white stop line at the parking lot’s single exit, closest to the neighborhood gate. Whoever won was given a small number of credits and could go in and buy a sweetroll from the bakery in the back of the market. 

Not paying any mind to the sweat on his brow or the stair around his collar, he marched through the sliding doors and made his way to the back. Although nobody was out and about, there were plenty of shoppers in the store. A line went all the way back to the aisles and he joined up at the tail. While he waited and shuffled along with everyone else, he texted Yu-Mi to see if they needed anything from the store. She sent him back a small list; a gallon of milk, butter, salt, black pepper, red pepper, and parsley, two loaves of sourdough bread, several turkey breasts, and then there was a list of everybody’s favorite candy. This made him chuckle because this came in a delayed, separate text and he knew everybody pitched in. Yu-Mi wanted a dark chocolate bar, Matilde wanted caramel, Seong asked for taffy, and Ji-Yu wanted not one but two bags of frosted gummy treats. Park didn’t really indulge in candy, he preferred pastries. 

Eventually he got to the front of the line and placed his order. A woman wearing a white coat and hairnet gave him one that was fresh out of the oven. It was still warm. He paid with his credit chit and, unable to wait, sat on a bench near the rear of the store to eat it. It was messy, filling, bad for his health, and he enjoyed every bite. Just as he was licking his fingers, an employee in a yellow shirt and black pants walked by. Pimple-faced and bored, he couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen. 

“Sir,” he said in a dull voice, “you can’t eat that there.”

He pointed at the wall by his head. Park, his mouth still a little full, looked back. A small placard he hadn’t noticed read, ‘no food or drinks.’ Removing himself, he went back to the front, grabbed a basket, and collected every item on the list. Moving down the aisles and weaving between couples arguing over what kind of breakfast cereal to purchase, he made quick work of it. Having eaten the sweetroll and nothing else, he was reminded of how hungry he was and if he stayed longer he would buy more food than they needed. When he dropped the two loaves of sourdough into the basket, a manager walked by wearing a purple shirt.

“Oh, sir, there’s a deal on bread today. Buy two and get one for a credit off.”

“Thank you but I just need two.”

The manager was in his forties with slicked back blonde hair and pudgy cheeks. As Park began walking, the manager kept pace with him.

“White bread is two and get one free.”

“I’m not getting white bread,” Park said. 

“Well, maybe you’re in the market for—”

“Sir,  _ thank you _ , I’m just here for the sourdough,” Park said firmly and deserted the manager quickly. Going up the front, he found the self-checkout stations all in use. He joined a short line at the nearest register and waited his turn. Another teenager, a brown-haired and freckled young lady, greeted him with a smile.

“Good morning, sir,” she chimed.

“Morning.” He put the contents of his basket onto the belt and she rang up each one. 

“That’ll be about fifty credits, sir.”

“Do you offer a military discount?” 

“Sure, one moment sir.”

Still smiling, she began tapping the keypad. Park waited patiently. As he did, he glanced over his shoulder. Two more people were waiting, absorbed with their COM-pads. When he looked back at the employee, she was red in the cheeks and focused on the pad. The machine beeped and she sighed loudly. “I’m very sorry,” she said, “I’m having a little trouble putting in the discount.”

Park waved his hand and shrugged.

“That’s fine, if it’s giving you trouble it’s not a big deal.”

“No, no, sir, I’ll get the managar.” She wore an earpiece and pressed the key on the side. “Hey Devin, can you help me put in the military discount up front please and thank you.”

Park looked over his shoulder. A third, fourth, and fifth customer was now in line. None of the other registers were being operated. Noticing this as well, the employee keyed her earpiece again and asked for more coworkers to come up. But like the manager, they were slow to arrive and soon seven people were in line behind Park. Each of the self-checkout stations were quickly seized before anyone could divert to them. People tapped their feet, drummed their fingers on the handle bar of their carriage, and glared at both him and the employee behind the counter.

Inhaling, Park closed his eyes and tried to be as patient as possible. When he heard someone groan, he opened his eyes. He felt his heartbeat picking up a little. Across from him, the employee continued to fiddle with the screen. Her cheeks were beet red. When the machine made another agitated  _ beep _ , she emitted another, stressed out sigh. That’s when he noticed a navy blue wristband with yellow lettering on them. 

“Pilvros Academy?” he asked. The girl looked up, then smiled, and nodded. “I went there too.”

“Wow, really? That’s cool.” 

“And you’re...” he searched for a question. He wasn’t one for small talk but he wanted to pass the time quickly, more for his sake than for her’s. “Are you planning to go to college?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to nail some scholarships. Is that what you did?”

“I was nominated for early action one by the planetary governort to go to Corbulo Military Academy,” Park responded. “I went in when I was fifteen and finished high school while at CAMS. Long distance education, really.”

The girl nodded slowly. Park cleared his throat. “The military is always a good decision. They’ll pay for your higher education and there’s plenty of opportunities for—”

“If you’re trying to recruit people, do it at the recruiter’s office,” an overweight lady in the center of the line said loudly. “Just hurry up.”

The same badgering manager from before finally arrived. He nearly pushed the junior employee out of the way as he quickly worked with the pad. Park looked back. Another person was joining the line and the other employee still hadn’t come to the registers. 

“Apologies sir, looks like there was some kind of system error, we’re going to clear your order and try again.”

“That’s alright, I’ll just—” There were groans behind him and Park had to bite his lip. If he didn’t, he was going to lose his temper. While the junior employee scanned everything and the manager retried the discount, the pimple-faced kid from earlier came shuffling up to one of the registers. He took his time lighting up the number boxed and sounded like a zombie when he called people over. Behind him, Park heard whispers of, ‘finally,’ ‘about time,’ and, ‘asshole.’ 

The discount was processed and cleared. Park was able to get ten credits off his purchase and he felt it wasn’t worth it as he took the bags. “Thank you very much, I really appreciate it.” He said this to the girl who just nodded, clearly embarrassed, while the manager shot him a dirty look. Park hurried out of the store and returned home. The walk back wasn’t as pleasant. 

Pushing through the front door, he found everyone sitting in the living room. Seong was watching television while everyone else was on their COM-pads. For some reason, this made Park stop. Many times he saw groups of people including his own family focused on their mobile devices. But seeing it this time made him feel really out of place. He was used to how busy an Army base or Navy ship could be; there was always something to do and everyone kept busy. Even when personnel had breaks and time off at the end of their watches, they kept busy. This could run from cleaning their weapons to an impromptu workout session in the gym. 

Here, with his family all immobile as their fingers swiped across the touchscreens, life seemed very static. The sheer stillness of it all really bothered and alienated him. Only when he dropped the grocery bags heavily on the kitchen did they finally look up.

“How was your run? Feeling good?” Yu-Mi asked. 

“Yes,” Park answered. Her tone was unsettling; she was putting a lot of effort into sounding interested. He began to unpack the groceries but Matilde came over. 

“I’ll take care of that, don’t worry!”

“I think I can handle putting away bread,” Park remarked, trying not to grumble. But he didn’t resist, allowing Matilde to take over. Before he walked away, she pointed to the counter. Following her hand, he saw a plate sitting next to the oven. It was a grilled sandwich with lettuce, tomato, melted cheese, and three slices of chicken. The bread itself was perfectly cooked so that the crust was not even singed and the center was a beautiful golden brown color. 

For a few moments, he stared at it. Looking up at Matilde, she averted her gaze and began to whistle as if she was playing it off. Park pursed his lips. It was kind but he didn’t particularly want a sandwich that early in the morning. It wasn’t even close to midday. But he knew why she made it; she was worried about him and wanted to do something nice. No matter how irritated he was, he couldn’t refuse a kind gesture like that. But it was still difficult to appreciate. 

Park was the kind of individual who could hardly stand his own birthday. The fuss and attention made him very uncomfortable. In the Army, it was different. Nobody cared. The best you could hope for were a few half-hearted birthday wishes from those around you who know your birthday. But no one ever bought him a cake, besides his few very good friends he made during his time in the service, and even then it was not an occasion. It was more of a brief trip of base wherever they were stationed to grab a few pastries and maybe grab a beer someplace. Although, they were the ones who drank. He never consumed alcohol if he could help it. 

He preferred the lack of attention. It meant he could devote his time to other, much more important things pertaining to his work. Granted, he always made sure to wish the men and women under his comrade a birthday wish and devote one of the better rations they were served to them. Or he would save something from the mess hall to give to them later, just to show them someone was thinking about them on their birthday. Celebrations were usually with their friends, not their commanding officer. Nonetheless, he understood it was hard to celebrate when they weren’t with their families. 

During his time in the Army, he hadn’t met anybody who refrained from their birthday like he did. Only when he was with his family did he grudgingly accept it. Kind gestures were appreciated but they forced him into a position in which he had to react. Expectant faces that would be hurt if he refused halted his natural urge which was to return the gift and to walk out of the part. He hated being bound by social graces. 

Sighing, he took the plate with the sandwich and walked over to the living room. He didn’t sit down, unwilling to get talked into walking a movie or television series. Instead, he stood behind the couch and ate. Seong began flipping through the channels, trying to find something to watch, and once again it landed on the news. Another perfumed, hair-sprayed commentator with large, white teeth and plastic surgery cheeks, smiled at the camera. 

“Hello, I’m Kaitlyn Werner, you’re watching Pilvros Channel Seventy-One. With me today I’m with sociologist Harold Jenkins and political scientist Susanna Richards to discuss counter-Insurrection activities in the Outer Colonies and its effects in other parts of the UEG. As a starting point for this discussion, I would like to lay down the ambush that took place yesterday in  Víťazný Február. A CMA platoon out on patrol was ambushed by an Insurrectionist sniper and destroyed an entire farm compound, killing several civilians.” 

Everything she said was articulated and certain words were given emphasis for effect. She was still smiling the entire time, as if her face was locked in that position. “Now, what do you think incidents like these simply project to the public mind?”

“Well, I think it’s a very common thing that happens in this war. The CMA and by extension the UNSC rely on overwhelming firepower to solve all of their problems and they don’t much care for the result. I think the military, after decades of this war, is proving with these incidents that they don’t know  _ how  _ to deal with problems  _ without  _ using force.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Jenkins,” said Richards. “People all over the Outer Colonies and even growing populations in the Inner Colonies are horrified by these random acts of violence. The UNSC truly is changing the character of the colonial family. They don’t use the word ‘teenager,’ anymore they refer to them as ‘fighting age male,’ or, ‘fighting age female.’ When they look at civilians, all they see are targets.”

“And what does this violence teach our youth?” added Werner. “I mean, we’re going up in an age of war and civil strife. We can’t rely on the UNSC for objective, unbiased news coverage. Anyone who buys into their, pardon my language,  _ crap _ , is learning that war is cool. Let’s face it, the UNSC’s recruitment drives are based on the concept that war is cool. Why would the UNSC want to teach our children that war is a good thing?”

“UNSC talking heads will tell you they're fighting for freedom and security,” Jenkins said in mocking, domineering tones. “In reality, they’re just slaves to the big titanium industries in the same way so many colonial governors and governments are. War makes big bucks these days; they need titanium for their ships so they’ll do anything for the corporations to get it! In fact I’m beginning to suspect a lot of these so-called  _ governors  _ on these reportedly  _ pacified  _ colonies are just puppets installed by the UNSC. I don’t have any evidence to support that but I think it’s likely.”

“Oh no, Mr. Jenkins I agree! So many people are trying to find jobs in agricultural and commercial sectors but it’s the mining and ship-building industries that have the real money, so we’re losing more social values there...”

“Change the goddamn channel,” Park growled as he finished his channel. Seong did so even though his older brother went to the sink to wash his dish. 

“Are you doing okay, man?” Seong asked.

“Yep,” was the curt response. When he finished, Park found himself face to face with his sister. She jerked her thumb to the staircase. 

“Hey, do you want to paint with me? We said we were going to do that. It might be fun.”

Park was planning to work out some more but she seemed rather hopeful. If there was one person he never wanted to disappoint, it was his younger sister. And considering how poorly the first half of his exercise routine ended, he decided doing something else didn’t seem so bad. Nodding, he followed upstairs, collected his easel, brushes, and paints and joined his sister in her room. It was larger than his but set up in much the same way; a bed over on the left side, desks and dressers lining the parallel wall, closets on the perpendicular wall near the door. Like in his room, there were pennants and other accolades from her education pinned and hung on the wall.

She put down a stool for him next her own. They set up their easels, slid their blank canvases on them, and then began squeezing paints onto the pallet. Park only put a little red followed by green onto it before setting the palette down on a nearby chest. “Trying to figure out what to paint?”

“Yeah, I may need a couple minutes.”

While Ji-Yu began painting a lovely scene of an orchard on a grassy knoll, Park stared at the blank canvas. He stared, stared, and stared. Nothing came to his mind, nothing seemed to reach out to him. Sighing, he looked down at his feet. He smelled his own sweat and realized he was still in his workout clothes. Glancing at Ji-Yu, he found her sneaking glances at her. 

“Maybe a landscape? Or a still-life? I think I have a couple things around here that could be interesting to paint.”

“It’s only when I come back home how much I find myself disgusted with people,” Park said, his words coming on without registering in his mind. “People are so consumed with things they don’t know anything about. People want things, so many things, they’re willing to badger other people for them. People,  _ civilians _ , so many of them lie and cheat and take. That’s all they do, they take, Ji-Yu, they just take.”

He inhaled sharply and shook his head. “In the Army, all the people I’ve served with are givers. They give everything they’ve got every day of their life. We push ourselves, challenge ourselves, and are willing to do things normal people will never have to think about. And we don’t do it for recognition or medals or to be special. We just do it because we want to. People here? They’d sell their grandmother if it meant they could cut in line.”

“Malcolm...”

“People here just don’t care. They don’t know, they don’t care, and they don’t care that they don’t know things.” He began bouncing his foot and clasping his hands. “They don’t care about the consequences of their actions, they don’t care about the people they hurt, so long as they can  _ do  _ all the things  _ they  _ want. It’s about I want this, I want that, I’m going to cheat on my boyfriend for some goddamn fucking reason that he won’t ever understand!”

Park smashed his fist through the canvas, threw it on the ground, and stamped on it. Grunting, growling, wild-eyed, he picked up the easel and smashed it on the floor until it became broken sticks. When he finished, panting, shoulders heaving, fists clenched, he stood in the little pile of wreckage. He looked at Ji-Yu and she appeared shocked and terrified. Her doe eyes were wide and her mouth was wide open.

He stepped off the mess and went to the door. “I should have just eaten my fucking leave. I’ll be back in a minute, I’ll clean it up. Christ, go on fucking leave and come back here to this bullshit. What the fuck!? I’ll be back, I just need a minute...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The mind ought sometimes to be diverted that it may return the better to thinking," - Phaedrus, Roman fabulist


	9. Prophet

“Sergeant Monika Pokorný to see Jacob Lake.”

The clerk behind the counter quickly typed something into the terminal. There were dark bags under her eyes and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She did not look particularly old, just very tired. Monika understood; in the weeks after the attack on New Trnava Central Bank, the local hospitals were besieged with casualties. From the few hostages who managed to survive to the scores of wounded officers and pedestrians who were caught in the crossfire, the availability of beds went down. Even after a few weeks, the hospital scenes looked frantic as the staff did their best to keep up.

Many families were sitting in the lobby. From the amount of blankets, pillows, food, and empty water bottles they carried, it was clear they were camping out as they waited for news. On call staff wearing headsets or earpieces, normally tasked to work in the waiting area, were often drawn away by a quick call. There was nobody to replace them. Hospital security guards in black suits were openly carrying their personal defense weapons; M6A’s, M6B’s, and M7 submachine guns. Many wore privately bought bullet proof vests over their shirts. Outside, sirens wailed as they responded to more typical emergencies; vehicular collisions, construction mishaps, and overdoses were the most common. 

All the staff members looked overclocked and overtired. Many bore the same appearance as the clerk standing in front of her. Pale, purple bags under the eyes, chapped lips, crow’s feet, dull irises, and slow moving. Monika’s heart went out to them. She respected the staff a great deal for their erstwhile service during this time. If there was something she could have done to alleviate their burden she would try but there were no apparent options to her. She herself was quite busy with her new duties as a sergeant as well continuing her training regime with the SWAT unit, keeping a track of her farm’s finances, output, and employees, and making sure Rosie got to school on time. It was a lot and she was beginning to think if she didn’t become a police officer she wouldn’t be able to handle it all. 

The clerk printed a small slip of paper which she then slid into a flat, plastic case. She clipped it to a lanyard and handed it to Monika. 

“Do you know where it is?” she asked tiredly. Monika nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

“Next!”

Monika draped the lanyard around neck, walked towards the cavernous entrance leading to the main hall. Glancing over her shoulder, she winced at the long lines of people winding their way towards the entrance to the lobby. Falling into step with the bustling crowd of volunteers, staff, doctors, nurses, and average people coming to visit friends and family, Monika journeyed down the long hall. Myriad voices bounced and echoed off the sleek, white, sterile walls. Each one lost its individuality and conversations blended together. Mingling together, the voices rose to a steady, nearly overwhelming droning. 

Closing her eyes, Monika breathed steadily. Knowing she wasn’t going to enter the elevator in the first wave of people, she diverted from the crowd and found a bench near the opposite wall. Above it was a huge, colored map showing the hospital complex. From the outside or from a distance, it appeared as only one building. But the aerial perspective revealed an intricate, triangular compound composed of three buildings connected by short skyways. Different wards, care facilities, and practitioner offices were highlighted in greens, reds, and blues. Information caches and directories were noted as well. Even the map itself was marked within the different levels.

Taking out her COM-pad, Monika plugged her earbuds into it, put them in her ears, hit ‘shuffle,’ and began listening to music. Never uncomfortable in crowds even in the worst of times, it was the noise. Since the shootout at NTCB, she found herself easily overstimulated in places with lots of civilian traffic. Too many voices began to distress her. It was something she didn’t want to bring up with the therapist. The last thing she needed was the department thinking she was losing her mind. She was an adult, a police officer at that, and she could find her own ways to cope with the issue. 

There was no particular song or genre of music which soothed her. The replacement of the droning, buzzing voices with anything more singular did the trick. Settling down, she checked the status of the elevators. Most of the first wave was already gone and elements of the second group, unwilling to wait for the return, departed for the stairs or the elevators deeper in the building. Monika was familiar with the layout but didn’t like to venture too far into the building. She didn’t want to take the risk of getting lost. So she waited for the second wave to disperse before stepping onto one of the elevators. 

Biding her time paid off, she wasn’t packed in with a bunch of people. Next to her was a doctor dressed in pale blue scrubs and a white lab coat. In the corner was a civilian in blue jeans and black leather coat. Another, a young woman, wearing a pink skirt and white sweater, leaned against the back of the elevator. Monika peered over her shoulder and stared at her for a moment. She could not have been any older than seventeen or eighteen. It seemed very strange to see her in the hospital.

_ Ding _ . The elevator doors opened and Monika walked out. She trundled down the hall, crossed a skyway, and entered the second building in the compound. Passing a desk, flashing her ID badge as she did, she went to the third room on the left side in the hexagonal shaped facility. Knocking on the door first, she pushed it open and stepped in. 

Lake lay in a semi-upright position in his bed. The white sheets were pulled up to his waist and he wore a gray hospital gown. IV’s ran into his left arm and the heart monitor, mounted on the stand on the same side, beeped normally. Monika’s eyes wandered on their own; Lake’s thighs were shaped under the blankets but there was nothing behind the knees. Even after visiting him half a dozen times, she was not used to the sight. Jarring did not describe what it was like to witness the missing limbs of her friend. It was absolutely terrifying and brought back the sights, sounds, and smells of that firefight. Muzzle flashes, rain, shattering glass, automatic gunfire, screaming, cordite, gunpowder, blood; it all came back into an instant. 

Plucking her earbuds out, Monika cleared her throat, smiled, and took off her ball cap. 

“How’re they treating you, Jake?”

“They keep sticking needles in my ass,” he replied and sat up a bit more. “Besides that, I can’t complain.”

Monika pulled up the nearby chair. Next to her was a stand with a food tray on it. A half-eaten chicken sandwich, some potato chips, a small milk box, and an untouched apple sat on it. She looked up at Lake who shrugged. “I’m not that hungry.”

“I thought Janice and the kids would be here.”

“I told them to go out to get something to eat. They’ve been eating too much hospital food. It’s bland and the kids could use a break. They’ll be back soon.” Monika nodded. Lake looked at her for a moment and smiled softly. “You don’t have to keep coming in, partner. Doctors keep telling me I’ll make a full recovery. All I need are my new legs.”

That was enough to make Monika smile. Lake was not the funniest nor the most charming man on the planet but he certainly tried his best to be one or the other. Little could deter him and that always made her grateful when they were on patrol together. Her own cruiser was feeling emptier than usual and she missed the company of her partner. It was not until he was absent from the vehicle did she truly feel his loss. 

They were friends. Their children were friends. In summer, they held little parties, get-togethers, and barbecues. If someone wanted to have a night to themselves, the other accommodated by looking after the kids. Both of them exchanged second house keys if they ever needed to get in for anything. No birthdays, functions, recitals, or sports games were missed by either family. All of it was put on hold and Monika that normalcy terribly. 

Lake took the apple and began turning it over in his hands. “I’ve been thinking about that woman you found hiding in the bathroom after the whole thing went down. The Insurrectionist had the place locked down. It’s pretty obvious they’d drilled for that operation for months; they had tac-gear, automatic weapons, explosives, an offensive and defensive strategy, hostages, and were smart enough to take out the cameras. I mean, they were able to infiltrate the bank from the rear without alerting  _ anyone _ .”

“Yeah, these weren’t your average ragtag militiamen. These were professional Innies.”

“But if they’re so professional, how did they miss one hostage?”

“It’s not that unfeasible. You can train all you want but you can’t take everything and everyone into account. No matter how hard you work, things can always slip through the cracks. We learned that in SWAT.”

“True. But it’s what she said. ‘I didn’t think it’d be like this.’ Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

Monika remembered it clearly. The woman, Irena, looked absolutely petrified. Who didn’t after that day? The sheer barbarity of it, the violence, all the blood, the sensory overload from so much gunfire, it brought so many to their knees. It was no surprise Irena suffered in the same way. When she said those words, Monika barely heard her and they did not register. When she mentioned the interaction to Lake, it barely registered even then. 

Now she replayed it over in her head. The more she heard it, the more it sounded strange. Her brow began to furrow, her lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed. Eventually, she looked back up at Lake. “She was hiding in the bathroom. Didn’t have a scratch on her. In shock, but that was to be expected. ‘I didn’t think it’d be like this,’ followed up by a little sob story. Did she ever see the detectives?”

“I don’t know, I never spoke to them.”

“See that you do. I’d be interested to hear about the results from the interview.” 

Monika nodded and continued to sit beside him. Suddenly, Lake looked confused and then narrowed her eyes at her. “What’re you doing here sitting with me? Get out there and police!”

###

Monika pushed through the door leading to the briefing room. She dropped the binders on the desk and then braced her hands on the edge. In front of her were dozens of blue-uniformed officers. All were sitting attentively. The usual banter and joking and laughing was absent. Since she took over as the new sergeant, this was a common sight. The shootout was sobering for everybody and it would be a few more weeks or even months before the usual light attitude returned. 

“Okay guys, I’ll try to keep this short. Last watch’s report; few more break-in attempts but all the suspects were apprehended, the owner of the red Genet, plate one-bravo-kilo-seven-niner was apprehended. Murder-suicide in Hollý.” She closed the green binder and opened the red binder. “Still waiting for the go-ahead on the smuggler’s ring, so keep your mouths shut about it. We don’t want to risk exposing the undercover agents. The organized burglary cases are still open but there hasn’t been a robbery like that since the shootout. Keep your eyes and ears open, we really need some intel on that. If you’ve got any in’s with gang affiliates, try to get something good out of them.”

She flipped the page and sighed. “We can add a third body to the CMA-targeted murders. Lieutenant Klec was killed in the same way as the previous victims; shot on his doorstep by a masked assailant armed with an M45E shotgun. One shot fired. No witnesses. Homicide is on it but it’s been tough for them.”

Monika closed the binders, read off the assignment roster, and then dismissed the officer. Silently, they stood up and filtered out the door. Instead of following them, she collected the binders, brought them back into the adjoining office, and left them on the watch commander’s desk. She then proceeded through another set of doors which brought her back to the main center of the department. Passing by countless desks and workers, she made her way to the wing of the building where most of the detectives worked. Next to each doorway there was a black placard with white print on it, denoting each of the different divisions within the department. 

She opened the door to ‘Robbery-Homicide.’ Within, she was greeted with a joint room which led to several other offices. In the center were four desks pressed up against each one. Sitting on the left one Jozef, an experienced detective who did not look the part. He was a bit on the portly side, bald, and wore a thick mustache. Anyone who looked at him would never have guessed he was a police detective; he looked more like an accountant.

“What can I do for you, Sarge?” he asked as he slurped some coffee. He sighed loudly and began typing on his terminal.

“I had a couple questions regarding the bank incident.”

“You and about five hundred other people. Sit down.”

Monika sat down at the adjacent desk and leaned forward. He leaned towards her, folding his arms on the desk. After a few moments, he widened his eyes and gave an expecting look. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask about the woman you interviewed?”

“What woman?”

“Irena something. Dyed blonde hair, glasses, rings, managerial type.”

Confused, Jozef turned to his terminal and began typing. After a few minutes and reading through a few files, he shrugged. 

“Sorry, it doesn’t look like we have anyone like that in our database. I’m looking at the case files and we don’t have any Irena or anyone who matches that description.”

Monika stared at him for a few moments. She blinked, furrowed her brow, and ran her hands over her face.

“I told her to come talk to you. I mean, you were  _ there _ , I pointed right at you, and she said she would talk to you.”

Jozef shrugged again, closed the files, and leaned back. He folded his arms behind his head. 

“This has happened before. Things just get so busy and hectic that people we gotta talk to just waltz on out. I think she was probably so shocked she just wanted to go home.” He leaned forward, opened another file, and read for a few minutes. “I downloaded the staff for that day and yeah, looks like we got an Irena Kocur. I’ll get some people to round her up for an interview.”

“Thanks Jozef. If it’s at all possible, I’d like to observe.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Monika tapped his desk, a little gesture to say ‘thank you,’ and went to the door. “Hey, want to know something weird?” She lingered in the doorway and turned around halfway. Jozef leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, and propping his left foot on the edge of his desk. “They didn’t steal any money.”

She blinked, opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. Jozef smiled and nodded, almost eagerly. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. But we didn’t find any credit siphons in the system and the bank reported they lost no credits.”

“Then why would the Insurrectionists choose a bank? They need funds, any organization like them needs funds. If they’re hurting for money, why didn’t they steal from the biggest bank in town?”

“Maybe they’ve got some twisted rules. Like it’s the  _ people’s  _ money or some other shit like that. If their leader has an iota of intelligence, he knows he won’t win over any of the people if he keeps taking their cash. But I honestly doubt the Innies are that smart. My guess, it was shock and awe; they wanted a lot of cameras and a lot of dead cops.”

“You’re telling me they came to fight?”

“The only way they’re going to win is if they fight.”

  
  


“Once we get around to the 1950s, we see a distinct trend rising in music. The advent of rock and roll would come to define generations of music to come and would evolve into multiple different genres. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One of the biggest stars when it came to rock and roll was...”

Park leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. He looked around the darkened amphitheater. Hundreds of heads lined rows upon rows of semi-reclined seating. Most were still and focused. A few drooped, apparently unimpressed and bored from the lecture. Others leaned toward the person sitting beside them a quick, hushed exchange passed between the two. A couple in front of him were sitting very close. The lady was resting her hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and he had an arm around her. Park didn’t mind such public displays of affection; it gave him a better view of the stage anyways.

Sitting beside him was Ji-Yu, who sat with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. She wore a small smile and her eyes were dazzled slightly by the gray-white light emanating off the screen suspended above the stage. A light appeared on the side of the giant room. Park instantly focused on it. One of the other attendees, apparently having left to go to the bathroom, walked back in and had no qualms about letting the door slam. It made Park jump a little in his seat even though he was looking in that direction. 

Looking back, he clasped his hands together tightly and looked at the stage. Behind the podium, Dr. Frost raised an extended metal point and tapped the screen hanging behind them. “...of course, we can’t talk about rock and roll without mentioning The Beatles. I’m sure some of you are familiar with their music despite it being several centuries old. Today, you might hear these songs played in old commercials, public facilities, or the occasional cover song. Being bombarded with it day in and day out in such a way tends to turn such music into white noise. But I assure you, these four individuals broke new grounds when it came to the genre. Their music was pivotal in a time of social change not just in the United Kingdom but across the entire world.”

Dr. Frost was young despite his scholarly rank. He was a renowned Terran professor of 20 th and 21 st Century Music at the Dalhousie University. He was a slender man with a narrow face, a brown-blonde beard, and swept back, feathery, light brown hair. All of Park’s teachers and professors always dressed like the typical academic; khaki pants, button-down shirts, ties, and maybe a sweater vest depending on the weather. This man, being more youthful, or perhaps of his particular concentration, was more casual in his appearance. He wore grayed out jeans, a blue t-shirt, and an open zipper jacket with hood attached. 

He had a way of moving that was energetic and when he spoke, he bore a genuinely giddy tone. It was a clear indication he loved what he studied and Park could appreciate that. At Oxford, he appreciated his professors but they were not the casual types. Each one within his concentration were stoic types steeped in the prestige of the school. As for the instructors at CAMS, they were in the military. They may have been more inclined to crack a joke or two but they were hard men and women. It was their duty to forge UNSC officers out of teenagers and young adults. If they failed, the officer corps would corrode. No particular branch was more lenient than the other and he was taught by personnel from all four. Those instructors made life a living hell but the moments of levity were something he would hark back to fondly while studying at Oxford. 

Many of the people here were students in the late high school or college level. Having grown up in an educational environment, he was used to such a sight. Many carried bookbags, held themselves in certain ways, and dressed in a certain fashion. There were a lot of hoodies with school names and logos written across the font. More than a few wore varsity jackets with white sleeves and school color torsos. Some were even taking notes. 

Park sighed and leaned back. As familiar as the sights were, they were just more reminders. Reminders he did not want and did not need. He almost declined Ji-Yu’s offer to come with her to the lecture. But she was insistent and would have been disappointed if nobody came with her. Saying no was not an option. So he remained as focused as possible and didn’t let the familiar sights and sounds bring him back to places he did not wish to revisit. 

Dr. Frost went to the podium, opened his personal, mobile terminal, and began typing. “As we get to the 1980s, we see a more diverse array of music beginning to sweep through the public. A trend myself and other historians have noticed in studying early 21 st Century music is how many individuals sought to recreate music from this period. An accompanying trend I’ve come across in many primary sources ranging from essays to social media posts indicate swathes of 21 st Century society believed the music of the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s were superior to contemporary music.”

He smiled at the audience. “Of course, this is to be expected. One generation grows up listening to music created in their time, and by the time they have children, music has changed, and they are more partial to the music they enjoyed as kids. I’m sure many of you have been blasting music at one point or another and your parents gave you the, ‘back in  _ my  _ day,’ lecture about music.”

This earned a series of polite laughter throughout the audience. Dr. Frost himself chuckled as he hit a key. “Each generation has something new and different across the board. New and different music, new and different dilemmas and problems. There are so many lenses to study those differences, mine is music, but there are countless others. Pardon me, I digress. Let me play another sample for you...”

Park’s COM-pad buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and dimmed the screen to zero percent. It was a text from Matilde:

_ The Caro’s invited us over to dinner tonight. It’s formal so please wear your uniform or something else appropriate. We won’t stay too long. _

He stifled a groan and handed it over to Ji-Yu. A moment later, she groaned too and handed it back. 

“That’s the last thing I want to do,” she hissed.

“I was hoping they’d gone senile since I spoke to them and forgot about that invitation,” Park muttered as he responded to the text. He tucked it back into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest. Just as he did, the audience began to clap, the lights turned on, and Dr. Frost left the stage. People rose and began to filter out of the room. Others began lining up near the stage. The professor was behind a table with a stack of books to his left and some music players to his right. 

Ji-Yu saw and gave a little gasp. Immediately, she jumped in line and dragged Park with her. He just wanted to leave but didn’t want to go without his sister. The line shuffled forward and soon enough they were in front of the table. Dr. Frost flashed them a courteous smile. Up close, he was a little different. His beard and hair were thicker, giving him a slightly wolfish appearance. His smile, while polite, was also very youthful. The man was either in his late twenties or just into his thirties. 

“Hi, thanks for coming. If you’d like to purchase the book, it’s thirty-five credits. If you’d to purchase a music player, it’s twenty credits. All proceeds go to Dalhousie University’s music programs.”

While Ji-Yu decided, Park walked up and examined one of the music players. It was an older model but one he was more familiar with. It was like the one he took to CAMS. He smiled a little bit at it. “You’re a service member?” Park looked at the professor. Dr. Frost pointed at the bangle Park was wearing on his left wrist. Inscribed on it were three names; 1 st Lieutenant John Fergeuson, 1 st Lieutenant Dimitri Gromov, 1 st Lieutenant Jenessa Hagen. 

Park looked at it for a moment and then nodded. Dr. Frost smiled softly and nodded at the music player. “It’s yours.”

“Oh, no sir, I can pay.”

“I insist. I appreciate what you’re doing out there. The Insurrection is our generation’s problem and you’re doing something about it. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dr. Frost chuckled.

“My son always wants to play army but his sisters never let him.” 

Park wasn’t sure what to say so he just smiled and nodded. Ji-Yu finally selected a music player and she too didn’t have to pay. The pair began walking towards the exit. As they did, Park couldn’t help but look over his shoulder. Dr. Frost finished signing a copy of his book and stood back up. Upon meeting Park’s gaze, he raised his hand and waved. Park nodded in response. 

The pair went into the lobby and over to a vending machine. Ji-Yu raised her chit to pay for bottled water. 

“That was cool of him.”

“I’ll have to read the book sometime,” Park said as he leaned against the second vending machine. “So you’re into this kind of music now. What he played was...”

“Super cool?”

“I’ll say interesting.”

Ji-Yu tossed him the water and he took a sip. Park looked back towards the hall. More attendees filed out, chattering with one another, reviewing notes, or even listening to the music players. He sighed and looked down at his feet. “I might cut my leave short.”

He looked up at Ji-Yu who looked at him as if he was a ghost. She sighed, turned around, and took a slug from her own bottle. “Look, things aren’t the best right now. I’m not exactly getting the rest I wanted. Besides, have you seen the news?” Park motioned to the monitors hanging over the clerk’s desk in the lobby. More images of battle-torn Outer Colony worlds appeared. Shouting soldiers, explosions, tracer rounds, and interviewing officers flashed on the screens. “The Army needs its officers more than ever. I’m not doing anything here on leave. If I can do some good out there, that’s where I want to be.”

“Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, Malcolm, but if you’re going to do that, do it for the right reasons. I’m not going to pretend I know a lot about the Army but you shouldn’t use it as an excuse to run away from your problems. You might think you’re a big bad soldier dude but you’re just my older bro to me. It doesn’t hurt to ask for a little help to get through bad times.”

“In the Army, you suck it up. You don’t have outbursts, you don’t break, you don’t—”

“We’re not in the Army right now,” Ji-Yu teased, waving her hands around. “Nobody’s shooting at us. You can’t just approach life going, ‘well in the Army I do this and don’t do this.’ That’s fine when you’re there but it doesn’t translate here.”

Park pursed his lips, feeling his temper rise, but did not want to lose it at his sister nor in public. Ji-Yu recognized by his expression she was upsetting him. So she sighed, remained silent for a few moments, and then bumped her elbow against his. “This is the longest you’ll be home in three years. Let’s just get this stupid dinner over with and have as much fun as we can, okay?”

Park looked back at the screens. Footage of urban warfare was playing as CMA soldiers and police officers fired at the front of a larger building. The screen transitioned to UNSC APCs and tanks stopping on a road to fire at something in the distance. Dismounted infantry took cover in roadside ditches and along embankments. Wounded men were carried into Pelicans and UH144s. 

“We’ll see,” he grunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A historian is a prophet in reverse," - Friedrich von Schlegel, German poet


End file.
